Winds of Nostalgia
by Dienekes
Summary: The Battle for Pieta is over, but another journey altogether is fast approaching. Clare finds that she is given a chance to live out her innermost desire, to return to a time when Teresa was still alive, and rekindle the bond she lost.
1. Chapter 1: A Friend, Comrade

Winds of Nostalgia-

**Chapter 1**: New Friend, A Comrade

Phantom Miria, cloaked in black, rose from her sitting position, the snow sliding off from her chipped shoulder guards and flakes dancing down from her snow-covered hair.

The light snow fell peacefully around her as she gazed intently into the whiteout, deep in thought. Her mind was far from the dismal snows which swirled around her.

_Hilda._ This name rarely escaped her thoughts. Miria often reflected on her better days, when she was a bright-eyed double-digit warrior, without the burdens of responsibility or remorse pulling her shoulders. She missed the days of her simple ignorance when the Yoma were the only evil to be purged. That was all before she realized that the Organization itself was a blight.

The one thing that the Organization never seemed to understand was the hearts of the Half Human, Half Yoma beings they had created.

Miria's comrades, the _Claymores_, that they created had the appearance of monsters, and possessed the strength and speed of monsters, that Claymores still were capable of human love.

This lack of insight on their part would be their downfall. _Our hearts are human. _

Miria clenched her fists by her side, taking in measured breaths, feeling the cold anger coursing through her. Miria held that certainty within her. She knew her comrades would rebel from the Organization's clutches. And she knew that she would lead the charge. Graves, marked and unmarked, and ruined towns across the land lay in proof of the Organization's evil. It was clear to anyone who knew what Miria knew. The Organization must be crushed.

But Miria was not unrealistic, she knew that the path ahead would require diligent training, planning, and patience.

The other Claymores, survivors of Pieta were huddled together. Miria scanned their weary expressions. _Their morale is low, it could affect their combat performance. _

She did not blame them for their weariness. Close friends and comrades had been left, torn to pieces in the wreckage of Pieta. Miria shared their pain, but she was a leader. Leaders cannot show their weakness. Leaders need to stand tall, a beacon for their subordinates to follow.

Miria sighed heavily, standing stubbornly against the gusting wind. Sometimes it was hard to be a beacon. Miria's reckless strategy had saved seven of her comrades from certain death but she had also failed seventeen others. She had not been strong enough. The regret tore at her, one little piece of her at a time.

Helen, who had been fidgeting for the last hour, could no longer hold silent. "This sucks. Can't we get out of this damned blizzard and find a town?"

Miria knew she could ill-afford dissent at this point. "For now, we are dead. So we act the part. We will continue to suppress our Yoki, and we bide our time. The organization will assume that we died at Pieta."

_And more importantly, _Miria thought, _we are not yet strong enough to make our move. We will need to __at least double our combat potential before moving south. _

"I didn't fight this hard just to freeze my ass off," Helen muttered.

Deneve, who sat against her Claymore, sheathed in the frozen ground, shook her head. "We lost eighteen comrades, and all you can think of is your own comfort," she said coldly. Mist rose from her mouth as her warm breath entered the freezing air. She closed her eyes, disappearing back into her thoughts. Deneve spent a lot of time in her thoughts. Miria had always been curios as to what thoughts drew her back with such tenacity. _Or perhaps Deneve is just so sick of the world that she withdraws as often as she can. _

If Miria knew one thing about Deneve, it was that Deneve kept her history and her secrets tight and she was not looking to share them.

Helen decided to appeal to Tabatha and Yuma. "You girls okay with just sitting around?" she asked.

Tabatha stared back pitifully and Yuma seemed to be unconscious, curled up on Tabatha's shoulder for heat and moaning softly. Cynthia was still absent, on another of her long walks alone.

Helen sighed in defeat, submitting herself back to a sitting position in the dusty snow.

Clare spoke up. "We need a fire. Send Helen to gather wood."

Helen's eyes glimmered. "I'd die for a hot fire. All this cold snow has my butt all wet!"

All eyes turned to their leader, Miria. By now, they had learned to defer to her planning whenever possible. It was only natural. Miria's planning had saved all of their lives. Miria gave her assent with a quick nod.

"The danger of a fire giving us away is minimal. Gather some wood, and find a dry place to start it," Miria ordered.

"Yes boss," Helen exclaimed, saluting Miria. She pranced off on her journey for dry limbs, heading back the way they'd come. They had passed beneath a corridor of gnarled, frozen trees.

Thawing them would be difficult. Still, it was good to see morale was not completely destroyed.

"I'll go make sure the fool doesn't get lost and die in the snow." Deneve rose to join her.

_What a strange friendship, _Miria thought as she watched the two disappear into the snow. Helen was energetic, foul-mouthed, and impetuous, while Deneve was dark, serious, and laconic. The two were almost complete opposites, but shared commonality enough to be friends.

Miria felt a rush of jealousy.

_Hilda. I wish you were here. _Miria had no place to be warm. As a commander, she needed authority, not friends. _Is friendship incompatible with my role as a leader? Or just incompatible with the scars in my memory? _

"The chances of Helen actually getting a fire going with this wind is extremely low," Clare said, face masked with a blank expression.

"At least it will keep her busy," Miria replied.

Despite Clare's repeated insubordination and child-like behavior, Miria had grown fond of her. _Maybe in a few decades when we've dropped our guards enough we could be friends, _she mused.

The day's march had been long and sorrow sapped Clare's strength. She curled up, welcoming the chance to rest. Perhaps, she thought, in her dreams, she would find a respite from the guilt which tore at her. All she could think of when she was awake was Jean's final words as she slumped lifeless before her. Jean's blood was on her hands. There was so much blood on Clare's hands.

Despite the cold, she did not shiver as she slipped into a deep sleep. She hoped she would sleep peacefully. There was something very peaceful about this frozen, dead landscape.

XXXXXX

Clare's dream was more vivid than usual.

She was in the building where she'd spent most of her early childhood, a training ground where the Organization had implanted her with Yoma flesh, and taught her to control her powers.

She recognized the area she was in as the courtyard.

The courtyard was one of the few areas of the training compound which had access to the sun. The Organization liked to use the open area to pit the children against one another in full contact sparring matches. She remembered most of her matches in great detail. Clare had lost every match but one.

But everything seemed a little different to how she remembered it.

Back then, she remembered that most of the girls looked at her scornfully. Being that Clare was only one-fourth Yoma, the other girls quickly found out that Clare was the weakest among them. In the brutal conditions of the training yard, weakness was met with contempt rather than pity. The girls had no room for pity. Pity did not help them survive.

Many girls died in training. Clare remembered that it was close to a miracle that she had survived.

She walked through the courtyard, but no matter how hard she tried, she didn't recognize the faces of any of the other trainees from her childhood. They were all different.

Eventually, she saw a girl at the back of the room with long platinum-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She felt her heart leap inside her chest. She walked towards her.

She made her way through the crowd of girls and saw the girl again.

This particular girl was leaning back, arms crossed with a cocky smile. Her silver eyes, her posture, everything suggested that this girl was powerful, independent, and fearless. But hidden beneath, Clare could see that the little girl was wounded, lonely, and most of all, angry. But her pain was too deep inside for any to see. Unlike the others that she didn't recognize, something about the girl seemed faintly nostalgic.

As she grew close, she recognized the girl's face. She felt a shock of joy and pain pulse through her heart. _Teresa. _

The young Teresa looked at Clare with a deathly glare. "Is there a reason you're looking at me?" Clare felt tears gathering in her eyes.

"Teresa," she said softly. It was all she could manage to say.

XXXXXX

"Clare!"

Clare's eyes shot open, the snowy world around her filling her senses. She could feel a hand on her shoulder. She was in Pieta once more.

She pushed the hand away, opening her eyes to see Miria's concerned face looking down at her as her hair was blown from side to side by the breeze. "Miria," Clare said weakly. _Why did she wake me? _

"You were crying in your sleep, Clare," Miria said.

Clare brought her hand to her face, feeling the wetness on her cheeks. "Oh," Clare said, embarrassed. Clare sat up, brushing off the snow which had gathered on her head. She had always looked up to Miria, it was humiliating to know that Miria had seen her during such a vulnerable moment, even if she was dreaming.

"Disturbing dreams?"

"I don't know." Clare felt shaken.

In truth, she didn't know if it was a good dream or a bad dream. She just felt turmoil inside, no pleasure and no pain.

"You kept repeating something and moaning," Miria pressed.

Clare glanced up with alarm. _Did she hear me say her name? _

"It was a name," Miria clarified, noticing Clare's concern.

The memories were something very private to her, almost sacred.

"Teresa," Clare said softly.

"Was she important to you?"

"Yes." Clare spoke quietly.

Clare eyed Miria wearily, wondering if Miria would ask any more questions, but to Clare's relief, all Miria did was give her an understanding look.

"I won't ask anything more," Miria said respectfully.

Clare felt a deep relief. This was not something she wanted to share. _At least not yet. _

"Miria," Clare said, looking up into Miria's eyes. At that moment, indecision swam within her. "I could tell you about her someday."

"Okay Clare," Miria answered.

Clare sat up and saw that Helen had gotten a fire going. Clare dusted herself off and rose to join them around the warm flames. Unsurprisingly, Helen was talking obnoxiously loud while Deneve subtly mocked her. Every once in a while, Deneve and Helen would share a smile. The two had probably been playing this game for a while now.

Cynthia had apparently returned from her walk. She was still distant from the others, and had taken the death of Veronica, her captain, very badly. Cynthia had been just a few steps from Veronica when she was torn in half and that fact alone seemed to have greatly wounded Cynthia to the point where she hardly spoke at all.

Veronica and Cynthia were close in number. Clare wondered if Cynthia and Veronica had been close friends, or perhaps even closer than that.

Tabatha and Yuma were both quiet. They were both newcomers to the group, and the loss of the other warriors hit them especially hard. Both just seemed thankful to be alive.

Clare felt the warmth of the fire as she approached. Even though Claymores could regulate their own body temperature the warmth of the fire was oddly pleasant, and the bright flames were a welcome sight among the gusting snowflakes.

Clare sat down, listening to Helen's cheerful story-telling and felt a different warmth flowing through her, the warmth of camaraderie.

Suddenly, she realized something. _Miria must have not wanted me to miss this,_ Clare thought, glancing up at Miria appreciatively.

Miria's enigmatic expression was fixed directly on the flames. But, for a moment, Miria's eyes looked over to Clare, and the slightest smile came over her lips. But the smile vanished as soon as it had come. _Even in the darkest times, one can find comfort in friends, _Clare thought.

As the night dragged on, the snow stopped and the fire burned down. Helen snuggled against Deneve's lap, much to Deneve's feigned annoyance.

The hours continuing to pass, Clare felt herself tiring. She saw that even Deneve had fallen asleep, limbs tangled with Helen. Only Miria and her were awake, and she continued to stare, eyes blank, at the glowing embers of the fire. Miria still blamed herself for those who'd fallen at Pieta. _It still visibly weighs on her_, Clare observed.

Clare reflected on that briefly before feeling the fatigue pass over her like a warm blanket. She curled down in the snow, pulling her tattered clothes tight to her body.

_"Clare_!"

Clare's eyes shot open and she immediately sat up, inhaling sharply. _That was Teresa's voice. _Clare thought. Clare urgently scanned the clearing, but no one was awake but Miria, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.

_"Clare!"_

Teresa's voice tore through the wind once more with powerful force, even though the word was said but as a whisper. No one else seemed to notice. The voice spoke to her alone.

Clare pulled herself to her feet. Her heart pumping urgently. The voice, Teresa's voice, was urging her into the darkness, towards the rose to her feet. She could feel Teresa's presence, in the darkness beyond the camp, calling out to her.

Clare walked towards Teresa's voice, pulled in like a magnet. She moved thoughtlessly, passing Deneve and Helen, leaving the dim light of the glowing embers behind with each step.

However, she heard footsteps behind her. Clare turned, and saw Miria was following her. "Miria," Clare said with surprise.

"You look disturbed."

"I heard... Teresa's voice," Clare said, looking back into the blackness. "I'm going to see what it is."

"It's a good night for a walk." Miria's eyes narrowed sharply. "I better join you."

Miria and Clare walked side by side. The night was so black that they could barely see their feet as they walked. Only the stars shone above them. The wind howled as it poured down through the jagged mountains ahead of them.

"Clare, take off your boots. We'll move quieter if we do," Miria muttered. Clare nodded, and pulled off her boots along with Miria, leaving them in the snow. With visibility so low, the removal of their boots made them virtually soundless.

They proceeded barefoot. But Clare could sense the presence. She knew it was close.

Then she saw a glint ahead of them in the distance. Miria saw it too. It was clearly the glint of armor reflecting in the starlight.

The both of them stopped and glanced at each other, making sure they both saw it.

There was no time to go back and wake the others. If they did, the figure might have a chance to escape.

Clare readied her Claymore quietly. Miria patted Clare on the shoulder and motioned for her to move forward. Clare nodded and stepped softly further towards the obscure figure as Miria circled around it at a good distance, readying a strike.

But the figure had already noticed them, or perhaps it had noticed them long before. Taking the initiative, it stepped forward. Miria and Clare readied their weapons.

"Identify yourself!" Miria commanded.

The figure ignored her. As the figure moved closer, it became more visible. Clare could, at first, make out the armor of a Claymore, and the figure of a woman, as the figure's face finally came into view, Clare's heart skipped a beat.

Her Claymore didn't fall from her grip, but it fell from it's ready position, blade sinking into the soft snow below as Clare's wide eyes drank in what she saw before her. "Teresa," she whispered. _This must be a dream. _

Teresa was standing before her, just as she remembered, with long white hair and an arrogant smile on her lips. "Why did you bring Captain Miria," Teresa said with a dramatic frown. "She won't understand."

"It's not real, Clare," Miria warned.

_It's a dream, _Clare thought, _A good dream. _

"Take my hand," Teresa said, stopping a few paces in front of Clare. "I've missed you. You've grown into quite a woman Clare."

Clare felt the tears rushing from her eyes. She reached out, and grasped Teresa's hand, her body moving on its own.

"Enough!" Miria shouted.

Miria knew that Clare was completely dumbstruck and could not be relied upon. She would have to do this alone. If Miria didn't succeed in her first attack, the illusionist could possibly turn Clare against her. Miria couldn't risk it.

With a sudden acceleration, Miria leaped at Teresa, intent on finishing her in one stroke.

"Teresa!" Clare shouted.

The warning was unnecessary. Teresa deftly intercepted the former number-six's attack, and planting a hand on Miria's chest. Miria's sword immediately fell from her hands and her eyes widened.

As Miria slumped against Teresa, fully unconscious, Teresa turned to Clare, stretching out her arm. "Come. . . I will take you where you wish to go."

Clare took her arm.

Reality rapidly faded away.


	2. Chapter 2: A Dream Within a Dream

Winds of Nostalgia-

**Chapter 2**: A Dream Within a Dream

Clare slowly opened her eyes, her blurry vision coming into view. The musty smell of the place reminded her of a dungeon, and the green light reminded her of the chambers she lived in during her training as a Claymore.

"She has silver eyes!" a man's voice exclaimed excitedly.

Clare groggily looked around, to see that she was laying on her back on a table, with three of the Organization's men peering down at her, all robed in black. Green-colored chemical flames burned on the walls on either side of her.

Panic seized her. _Oh no. I've been captured, _Clare thought. She struggled, but found that her hands and feet were secured with iron chains. Predictably, they did not seem to have any give. _Of course they wouldn't, the Organization isn't stupid, _Clare thought hopelessly.

_Perhaps if I used my powers, I could break free, _she thought.

She released her Yoma powers, feeling them course through her like a torrent of energy and power, her muscles rippling beneath her skin, her teeth elongating into Yoma-like fangs. But it was futile. The chains barely budged, despite her efforts.

"There there little one, calm down. You are going to hurt yourself," one of the men said. Clare repressed her powers, feeling the power slide away and her human form return to normalcy.

Clare looked at the man who had spoken and saw that he was scarred with a hideous deformity, perhaps a burn, which covered half of his face. The skin of half his face looked like it had been melted into liquid form and then hastily dried. A single, barely-attached eye with no pupil lay within a dead socket. The deformed man eyed her curiously, his one functioning eye betraying an unnatural excitement.

Clare faintly recognized the man back from her early days in Claymore training. She had seen him only a few times. She figured that he must have been someone high up in the organization. _Wait, he was the one who implanted me with Yoma flesh, _Clare remembered. The memories were vague. Mostly, she just remembered pain, and the hatred and desire for revenge which burned in her heart.

Clare relaxed, glancing around the room. There was very little she could do but listen and watch, so she did just that. If the Organization had captured her and was keeping her alive, it was either to experiment on her, or to interrogate her in order to learn about the rest of her comrades. Clare braced herself. She did not intend to talk. _Never. _

"Dae-Sama, this is highly irregular. We have no records of this girl. She appeared out of nowhere on our doorstep. Where could she have come from? Who could have made her?" a black-robed man with a deep voice said. Clare listened carefully._ This is strange. They should know who I am. They should be interrogating me. Something feels wrong about all of this, _she thought.

"That is what makes this so fascinating, Orsay," the deformed man answered with a crooked smile.

_I see, _Clare thought, looking between the two men. _The one with the deformed face is Dae-Sama. The one wearing the robe who has the deep voice is Orsay. _

"Another one of the facilities could have made her without permission. She seems to have been created with our methods," another man proposed.

"This one is clearly not ours. It would be safe to kill it-"

"Hasty and ignorant ideas like that are why you are a handler and not a researcher, Orsay," Dae interrupted. "This one is very interesting. She seems different from the others, the Yoma mutation on her stomach appears to be far less prominent than normal. We must keep her." _So they've studied my body thoroughly already. I recognize many of these men. Dae-Sama was the one who originally implanted me. How do none of them recognize me?_

"There is truly nothing that will supersede your curiosity, is there, Dae-sama?" Orsay asked bitterly.

"My curiosity has taken us this far, has it not?" Dae replied.

"Still, this concerns the safety of the Organization. We must report this to Rimuto," Orsay insisted, leaving the room.

"Be sure to also report how over-serious you are, Orsay..." Dae called after him in a mocking tone.

After Orsay left, the other robed man followed. Eventually, only Dae remained. Dae studied Clare with the fascination of a child, his one working eye darting up and down her body. By human standards, he was hideous, but Clare was a Claymore, and she'd seen and felt enough to be desensitized to that kind of thing by now. "Don't worry, child. I won't let them kill you. You are far too interesting," Dae cooed.

The fact that she'd attracted the strange fascination of Dae could serve to keep her alive, but it still didn't answer her question. She had no idea of how she had gone from the snows of the north to being strapped onto a table at an Organization facility. _How did I get here,_ she wondered. _How do they not recognize me? _

Then, Clare recalled her last conscious moments in Pieta. They were quite bizarre. She had met Teresa, or at least something that had taken Teresa's shape. Miria had tried to cut Teresa down, and with a single touch from Teresa's hand, Miria had fell to the ground. The memory ended there.

_Did she do the same thing to me as she did to Miria? Are both of us trapped in some kind of fantasy... or perhaps an illusion? Maybe I was trapped in an illusion even before I had the vision of Teresa. _

Clare glanced around the dungeon room she was in, and she could see that the room was probably intended for surgery. _This is the room where they implant us with the flesh of the Yoma, _Clare realized. It all seemed too richly detailed to be a fantasy. Everything about the dungeon was vivid, even the smells, and the feel of the table Clare was strapped to_._ She glanced up at Dae, wondering if she should ask him a question, or just remain quiet. She decided that her need for information was too great to remain quiet.

"How did I arrive here?" Clare asked. For some reason her voice sounded strange.

_My voice is high pitched. Like it was when I was younger, _she realized.

"No one knows that, little one," Dae answered. "Not even you, it seems." This seemed only to intrigue him even further.

_They don't recognize me, despite the fact that I remember them vividly. They don't seem to realize that I have been implanted with the flesh of a Claymore rather than a Yoma._ _I must have been taken to a reality where I had not yet been created. Have I been taken to the past? That would explain why he keeps calling me little one. I must be younger, the age of a trainee. _Her eyes widened at the thought.

Clare was in a dangerous position. If the Organization thought she had any useful information, they'd probably torture her to find out what she knew. Dae's insatiable curiosity could work against her in this regard. And even if she did reveal to him everything she knew, it was doubtful that she would be believed. She hardly believed, or even understood, the circumstances herself.

If she wanted to escape this dungeon, she would need to convince the Organization of her ignorance and she would have to do it quickly.

"Who am I?" Clare asked.

She hoped her ruse would succeed.

"You don't know?" Dae asked, eying her intently.

"Are you my Papa?" Clare asked, mustering up the most innocent wide-eyed expression that she could. She remembered back to her training, when the Organization had taught her manipulate a mark.

"I could be your Papa," Dae answered, with a widening smile. "Would you like that?"

Clare definitely did not want this insane Organization researcher to be her father, but she needed to stay in character.

"You're nicer than the other men," Clare said innocently. Dae gave her inquisitive look. For a moment, Clare thought that perhaps he'd seen through the ruse, but as Dae smiled gently, the fear passed.

"We'll find a place for you," Dae assured.

Clare did her best to mask her relief behind a smile.

Clare's escort consisted of two of the Organization's guards. Both were armored in steel plate, holding spears. The Organizations human enforcers. It was just as she remembered it.

They guided her down a long hallway of cold stone, into a familiar chamber. Inside the chamber, Clare recalled, the half-Yoma girls were housed in separate cells, by twos, behind iron bars.

Clare could see some of the girls peering out at her, through the bars, grim, empty expressions as she passed them. Some had hair matted with dried blood. Many more seemed not even to take note of her arrival, or were resting in their beds. She passed numerous cells, but she couldn't see any familiar faces within any of the cells.

As she passed on cell, she saw a girl inside, clutching her stomach and moaning in pain. _They must have just been implanted. Some of them are still struggling with the transformation. _Clare thought.

She could hear some murmurs, but mostly the living quarters were silent. Eventually, the guard stopped in front of one of the iron-barred doorways, pulling out a metal ring with hundreds of keys dangling from it. Clare looked inside the cell. The room was slightly smaller than most, had two beds in the far corner. Across from the beds was a small bin for changes of clothes and undergarments. But it was mostly bare.

Clare could see that another girl was inside, standing in the dark corner of the room. _My new room-mate, _Clare thought. She wondered who the girl was, or if she'd recognize her. She was too deep in the room to make out her features.

He stuck in the correct key, unlocking the door with a sliding click. The door opened with a rusty groan.

"This is your room, get in," one of the guards ordered, pushing Clare towards the open door. Clare shot a glare at the guard, but did as he said, stepping inside.

They slammed the barred door shut with a metallic crash and the sound of the door being locked behind her quickly followed. She could hear the sound of the guard's metal boots striking the stone floor as they returned to their posts.

The inside was slightly darker than the hall and it took Clare a moment to adjust. Still standing in the corner, her new room-mate cross her arms. The girl began to tap her foot against the floor impatiently.

Clare stared blankly back at her.

"Who the hell are you? What's your name?" the girl asked, greeting Clare aggressively. Clare almost said her name, but stopped herself. _I told Dae that I don't know who I am. I will need to stick to that story. Or they will interrogate me. _

"I don't know who I am," Clare lied.

"What kind of answer is that?" the other girl said, quirking her head. She stepped towards Clare, into the light. "What kind of moron doesn't know who they are? Eh?"

Clare's eyes widened as the girl's face came into view. It was one of the women who had hunted Teresa when Clare was a little girl. Clare recognized her as the cocky, expressive one, who specialized in acrobatics. _I should have known the second I heard her voice, _Clare thought.

If this girl, one of the single-digits which hunted Teresa all those years ago, was in front of Clare now as a trainee, then that meant that Clare had somehow been transported to the time when Teresa was a trainee within the organization, or at least within the same time-frame as it.

Clare now remembered the last words she'd heard in Pieta before all of this._ I'll give you what you always wanted_. And Clare knew what she'd always wanted. _I've always wanted to be with Teresa. _

And now, here she was, in the Organization's facility with a very real chance that Teresa was also somewhere within the walls. The situation still confused her, but Clare couldn't help but feel excited. _Is this an illusion? Is it real? Does it matter? _

"Hey! You! What's that weird look for?" the girl demanded, taking another step towards Clare. "This is my room. You're just here because I allow it, understood?"

"Okay," Clare said, playing along with the girl's power play.

"Good then. We'll get along fine, no-name. My name's Noel. Remember it, because I'll only tell you it once."

With Noel's posturing over with, she retired to her bed, sitting up against the pillows. "You can sit down too if you want, no-name," Noel said, gesturing to the second bed beside hers. "You're going to need all the rest you can get, trust me. A couple of weak girls have died in training already. Those that survived the transformation, that is."

Noel tried to sound dismissive when she talked about the weak girl's deaths, but Clare could detect a hint of sadness in her voice, even a small hint of fear. For all of her aggression, Noel was softer than she looked. Of course, Clare knew how little that mattered. When it came to judging Claymores, what they felt inside was of little consequence, it was only their actions that mattered. Inside Priscilla, had been a frightened, tortured, and idealistic little girl. It was Priscilla's actions that made her a monster.

"If you are strong, we can be friends. But if you're a weakling, don't slow me down." Noel said, curling up in her own bed.

Apparently the organization had already dressed her in normal clothes. And since Clare had been given nothing extra, she had no possessions to put at the foot of her bed. Pulling the meager covers back, Clare saw that the mattress, despite being washed, still possessed evidence of blood stains and other stained splotches. It didn't bother her, of course. Clare had slept in worse. She climbed beneath them. As she pulled the blankets over her small, younger body, she remembered that her bed had always been one of the places that she had been safe. She remembered the nights that Elaina and her had held one another. Elaina had been much stronger than Clare in training, but she had always looked out for Clare, like a little sister.

Clare pushed her thoughts of Elaina aside. _The reality has changed. _She curled up in her sheets, but sleep didn't come immediately. She tried to close her eyes, and kept rolling from side to side to find a comfortable position, but found it difficult to turn off her mind.

In the end, Clare stared up at the stone ceiling, the possibilities filling her head. It was all just too strange for her to sleep. _Will I meet Teresa tomorrow? Or maybe this was all one long dream and when I go to bed here, I will wake up back in Pieta. _

In any event, Clare suspected that tomorrow was going to be a very interesting day.

In the next cell over, Irene peered out from her own bed-covers at the new girl. Despite the fact that Irene's Yoma powers were still fledgling, she could sense great power in the newcomer. _Interesting, it looks as if Teresa will soon have a competitor, _Irene thought.

The idea of the arrogant Teresa being brought down a notch made Irene smile as she relaxed, preparing her body for sleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Good for a Rookie

Winds of Nostalgia-

**Chapter 3**: Good for a Rookie

_Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews guys. Always good to see people are still enjoying such a fine and soulful fandom. As for Miria, I do **eventually** plan on involving her more in the story and in Clare's own fantasy, which was something I tried to set up in Chapter 1. Good eye on that one. _

Clare awoke from her rest half-expecting to find that everything that had happened with the Organization's training facility was a dream and that she was back in the unforgiving snows of Pieta but as her eyes fluttered open, the lack of freezing wind and the sound of Noel's guttural snoring informed her otherwise.

Clean groaned in a half-asleep stupor, brushing away the tangled hair which had fallen over her face in the night with one hand. She had almost forgotten that during her training with the Organization, she'd had long platinum blonde hair, styled almost exactly like Galatea's. She swept it from her face and sat up, viewing the room lit by the green flickering light of the chemical torches.

Sitting up against the base of her bed, Clare ran her hands through the lengthy strands of hair which fell from her scalp. Clare wondered if she should cut it short again. Many years of experience had shown her that short hair was easier to fight in, less trouble. Cutting the hair short would be the best decision from a practical standpoint, but at the same time, she had always missed her long hair. Something about it reminded it of her younger days with Teresa. It reminded her of when she was a little girl.

Since she'd fallen asleep, the bed sheets had gotten considerably damper. She rustled her legs, feeling the damp sheets clinging to her legs uncomfortably. The dampness was an unavoidable consequence of sleeping in the moist lower chambers. Dew gathered on the roof and dripped down constantly. The living quarters in the training facility weren't designed for comfort. In fact, the Organization might have even planned for the chambers to be uncomfortable on purpose, in order to mentally and physically toughen the recruits. The Organization was always exploring new and twisted ways to sharpen the warriors under their command. Clare wouldn't put it past them.

Being underground and flame-lit it was impossible to tell the time. Clare glanced around the room, using her instincts, and guessed that it was probably early morning. Returning for a brief sleep wasn't worth the effort at this point, even if she could manage with the bed's damp sheets and Noel's loud snoring.

Clare sat up in her bed, pulling the wet sheets from her body. _If memory serves me right... _Checking the floor of her cell, she found that the organization had passed two fresh uniform sets, cleaned and dry, through the bars as they slept.

Clare swung her feet down from the bed and stood up. Making her way across the cool stone floor to the fresh clothes, she tugged her damp clothes off and pulled on the fresh ones. The feel of the dry, washed cotton fabric rubbing her skin felt heavenly compared to the miserable whiteout conditions of Pieta, where they they gone weeks with the same sets of underwear. Clare winced at the memory. She didn't even want to think about it. Nor did she want to recall just how smelly Helen started to get near the end...

Clare had no desire to return to her wet bed, so she squatted down, sitting against the back wall of her cell instead. Relaxing in her sitting position, Clare glanced to other cells, seeing that only a handful other girls were awake as well. She inhaled deeply, relaxing against the cool rock wall which supported her back. She knew that the other girls thought that this place was a true hell and with good reason. Clare remembered that during her training a majority of the girls had died. The girls in this facility didn't realize that beyond this hellish facility, the true reality of being a half-Yoma was far more dangerous and unforgiving.

Clare peered to her left along the wall. In the cell directly adjacent to theirs, Clare saw a girl with long silver hair was also awake early, sitting on the edge of her bed. Clare recognized the silver hair and the girl's face almost immediately.

_Irene!_

Irene was sitting on the edge of her bed, arms joined in her lap, her legs dangling as she stared at the floor. Her eyes were focused as if she were concentrating on a single thought. Since meeting Noel, this was the only other face that had been familiar to her. 

Seeing the veteran Irene as an anxious young girl was an odd yet welcome sight. It had been many months since Irene had saved Clare from Ophelia's insane hunt and Clare had never been able to repay her. While the girl seemed to possess Irene's determination, Clare could tell that this younger Irene lacked the cold detachment and confidence of her more mature counterpart.

Clare stared at Irene for a long time in puzzlement, but eventually Irene caught Clare's stare. Irene narrowed her eyes at Clare for a moment before turning away, allowing her hair to shield her face. It was far from a welcome from an old friend, but Clare didn't blame Irene. To her, Clare was just another stranger.

Clare looked away, walking to the front of her cell, leaning against the outer bars that separated her room from the hall, but she was granted just a few relaxed moments before she heard the creaking of the main chamber's solid wooden door opening. Into the living chamber poured a contingent of guards, their metal boots clicking against the stone. They filed into the corridor in formation. The sound woke a few girls up, but most remained sleeping.

To the girls, the five hours they were allowed for sleep probably seemed like too few, but they had just not yet fully adjusted to their half-Yoma bodies. In reality, they required even less sleep than the five hours they were given. It was one of the only aspects of the training in which the Organization was actually generous.

Clare remembered that the guards roused the girls each morning by rattling their spears on the bars of each cell, jarring the trainees awake. It was an obnoxious sound to wake to, and made for an effective wake-up call. When Clare was a trainee, her room-mate Elaina used to wake her just before the guards did it so that Clare wouldn't wake up startled. The memories of living with Elaina brought a sad, nostalgic smile to Clare's lips. Elaina had been a sweet girl. If she hadn't been a Claymore, she would have made a fine wife, and if her parents hadn't been killed, she would have made a good daughter. Clare climbed to her feet, deciding that she would rouse Noel before the guard's spear-banging did.

Clare quickly made her way to Noel's bed, grasping the loud-mouthed girl by the shoulders and gently shook her. "Noel, wake up," Clare whispered.

"Dad, I told you to stop tickling me," Noel mumbled in her sleep, clenching her pillow tightly as she rolled over.

It seemed that Noel was a heavy sleeper. Clare didn't want to shake Noel any harder, for fear of startling the hot-tempered girl so Clare shrugged and made her way to the entrance to their cell, waiting for the doors to be opened.

__The Organization's guardsmen had already spread out, one guardsman to each cell. Clare eyed the human guard who stood in front of the cell, clad in an incomplete steel plate, with chain mail showing through at various points. Like so many of the guards, he avoided looking her in the eye. He was nervous and scared, like most humans. Dealing with the Organization's freaks was just a job for him, and likely a job that he did not enjoy.

"Rattle!" the guard captain shouted. Hearing the signal, all the guards began to strike the iron bars of the cells with their spear-points, making an infernal banging sound.

Noel erupted out of her covers, got tangled, and fell onto the stone floor face-first. "Shit," she called out, pulling herself to her feet. She scrambled to the front of the cell and quickly changing into her fresh clothes.

"Don't worry no-name," Noel said with a cocky grin as she pulled up a pair of fresh cotton pants. "I'll protect ya."

Clare did her best to look grateful, but she had already mastered this training. She didn't need Noel's help.

"Into line! By twos!" the guard captain shouted. Each guard unlocked the many cells and pulled the rusted doorways open. The girls poured into the hall, lining up beside their room-mates in a long, jagged line. Irene was directly in front of them, but avoided eye contact with Clare as she joined the line in front of Clare and Noel. _I'm not supposed to know Irene's name or who she is so I can't just say hello, _Clare remembered.

"Who's that?" Clare asked Noel quietly, pointing to Irene.

"Who? Pointy ears?" Noel said loudly enough for Irene to hear, laughing loudly. A few of the other girls joined in. Clare knew that, at times, the Yoma transformation changed the shape of a Claymore's ears, but she'd never imagined that Irene had been teased because of it.

Irene bristled angrily but didn't respond. She only stiffened her posture. Listening to girls laugh at Irene, who Clare knew was a proud and honorable girl made an indignant anger rise within her. Clare too had been mocked during her training.

Clare rested her hand on Irene's shoulder. "What's your name, comrade?"

Irene turned slowly, eying Clare curiously.

"My name is Irene," she said, soft but blunt. Although her vocal tone lacked the confident edge Clare remembered, it was quite similar.

"I... don't remember my name. But when I do, I will tell it to you," Clare promised. Irene took Clare's statement with skepticism, but didn't protest.

She could see the makings of the Irene she knew hidden in this younger Irene. Perhaps this Irene was less dignified, and confident, but she was still the same warrior that had patiently taught Clare the flash sword, and even surrendered her arm to atone for Priscilla's awakening. More so than just that, Irene had saved Clare's life.

"I see. It was good to meet you in any case," Irene said, nodding before turning back around.

"Figures the new kid and the weak awkward girl would be friends," Noel quipped to the two Claymores behind them.

"We are all comrades. Friendship is nothing compared to the bond of a comrade," Clare said. Noel cocked an eyebrow and gave Clare an incredulous look, but she didn't say any more.

_Irene is weak? _Clare narrowed her eyes in disbelief. Clare found the idea of a weak Irene to be extremely strange.

_What a strange and idealistic girl, _Irene thought to herself. _She looks at me as if she knows me... respects me... and even though she is a new recruit, she speaks as if she carried the authority of a veteran._

Irene's reflection was interrupted by the guard captain let out a shout, ordering the girls forward. As she began the walk to the first class, Irene decided that eventually, she would try to find out more about this mysterious new girl.

As they walked, their line of girls was joined by two separate lines of girls from the two other living quarters. Clare keep searching their faces for Teresa, but she still couldn't locate her in the bustle.

Soon, they reached the training room. Clare followed Noel, who nudged her way aggressively through the crowd. As they entered, they found a wide, rectangular room with ten piles of practice swords lined up across the middle. An middle-aged instructor wearing a black Organization robe with a black eye-patch was waiting for them. "Good morning ladies! Form ten lines!" the instructor announced. _Instructor Sezo, _Clare remembered. He was younger.

Flanking him stood an older half-Yoma warrior dressed in full armor. This warrior had a fully shaven head, and eyed the entering trainees with an ice-cold, silver-eyed stare. Although she was a different warrior than from the time that Clare was a trainee, the job appeared to be roughly the same.

A warrior without a number, she was the enforcer. Her purpose was to slay any trainee that was too strong for the Organization's human guards to kill. The Organization always kept one close at hand during training.

Clare remembered a few trainees were slain by the enforcer during her generation, sometimes for seemingly insignificant troublemaking. The enforcer had been ruthless, and without sympathy. This one didn't look any less cold. As if sensing Clare's gaze, the enforcer locked eyes with her. Clare quickly broke her gaze. The coldness in the enforcer's eyes sent a chill up her spine.

After looking away from the enforcer, Clare noticed that Noel and the others were no longer by her side. As she had been standing there, the girls had been lining up.

And as Clare searched for Noel, she caught site of Teresa for the first time. Teresa was at the front of her own line, wearing a confident, careless smile. But hidden beneath her superficial expression, Clare could see that Teresa held the same pain and loneliness that Clare had seen as a little girl.

"No-name! Those lines are full, come here!" Noel called out. Shaken from her gaze, Clare saw that Teresa's line was already full. If Clare tried to join it, Instructo Sezo would just force her to move to a smaller line.Reluctantly, Clare filed into another line, behind Noel.

Some of the girls began to talk but the chatter was silenced by Sezo clearing his throat loudly. "Let's start with the basics, the overhand slash," Sezo began. "This is your basic strike. We have done it a hundred times already, and we will do it a million more! Remember your footwork ladies! There's nothing I love more than stomping on some Yoma feet after I see sloppy footwork!"

Clare could see Irene standing at the front of the line to her left, already holding a practice sword, her eyes glistening with determination.

Sezo caught Irene's eyes and walked over to her. "I bet you've been practicing this in your head all damned day," Sezo said musingly. "Let's see it, Irene."

Unaffected by Sezo's critical gaze, Irene held the practice sword firmly in her hands and stepped forward, eyes narrowed. In one swift motion, she swung her practice sword down, executing the slash, her long white hair swishing behind her. Despite the passion and determination she put into the strike, Irene didn't make the slightest noise of exertion.

"Freeze!" Sezo shouted.

Irene froze in mid-swing, face stone-cold with determination as she held her arms at the lowest point of her finished swing, as Sezo had ordered. After giving a quick evaluative glance to Irene's stance, Sezo reached down and grabbed a practice sword from the pile to Irene's right. Clare had seen Sezo do this before, and judging from Irene's footing, Clare knew what was coming.

She was unsurprised when Sezo raised the practice sword and pushed the blunt tip against Irene's collarbone. Clare could see Irene struggling to hold her position her muscles trembling to hold posture, but her legs were just too wide apart. With a small push, Sezo pushed Irene onto her backside.

"You're stance is too wide, and you're standing as rigid as a Yoma's dick!" Sezo shouted. Irene rose calmly to her feet, giving Sezo a dark look.

"Get to the back of the line," Sezo said, waving his hand dismissively. With bitter frustration, Irene made her way to the back of the line as many of the other girls laughed. Irene was proud and deliberate, which made this all the more embarrassing for her.

"First row! Slash!" Sezo shouted. Clare watched Teresa, who preformed the slash beautifully, her sword passing like a blur through the air, faster than all the other girls. _She was graceful, even in training, _Clare thought.

After the slash of each group, Sezo would criticize a few of the girls before calling up the next group.

Noel, who was directly in front of Clare in line, tried her best to get Clare up to speed, giving Clare a few basic hints as Clare's turn approached.

Soon enough it was Noel's turn. Noel preformed her slash decently well and avoided Sezo's criticisms, but Clare could see that Noel's form had many flaws. _Good enough for this stage, _Clare guessed. As Sezo called up Clare's rank, Noel patted Clare on the shoulder and winked at her. "Kick some ass," Noel said, before returning to the back of the line herself.

Clare had no trouble with the overhand slash. She'd perfected it over many long years of training. Actually, it was more accurate to say that she'd done more than perfect it, she'd even modified the attack on her own to increase it's speed and cutting power. Clare knew that if she preformed her attack flawlessly, that she'd attract suspicion. As she walked to the front, grasping the practice sword, she urgently tried to decide how she could best try to look sloppy. Raising the practice sword, Clare quickly decided to stick her elbow out too far, a common rookie mistake_. _Clare readied her weapon, which felt like a twig compared to the weight of a Claymore, and waited for Sezo's order.

"Slash!" Sezo shouted. Remembering to stick her elbow out, Clare preformed the slash instinctively. Unlike the dull noise the other girl's swords made as they went through the air, Clare's made a sharp whistling sound.

As Clare recovered, she could feel all the girl's eyes had turned to her. Sezo walked over, a curious look on his face.

"You there, newbie. Swing again. This time tuck in your damn elbow a bit," he said, eyes narrowed on her.

Clare nodded calmly and swung naturally. She tried to decrease her power a bit, but her sword still made the high-pitched whistle as it sliced through the air. This time, Clare could hear a few gasps, and a rising murmur from the crowd.

Sezo furrowed his brow and gave a slight nod. "Perfect," he said, waving her off.

"Next row!"

Clare dropped her practice sword and walked back through the line. Almost every girl eyed her as she passed. Many of them whispered to one another. From the next line over, Irene eyed Clare with a look of mixed jealousy and disbelief.

"I've never seen Sezo compliment anyone! Where the hell did you learn that?" Noel said with a wolfish grin, throwing her arm roughly around Clare's shoulders.

"Just seemed like the right way," Clare answered nonchalantly.

"Bullshit!" Noel replied incredulously. Clare shrugged.

As Sezo took them through each of the forms, Clare did her best to botch them, but still found that her comrades and her instructor were more impressed after each display. Soon, numerous wide-eyed trainees were asking Clare her name, and paying her compliments.

Eventually, they split into twos and told to practice the strikes and the associated blocks. Clare paired up with Noel. As they sparred, Clare remained quiet at first, but eventually began to give Noel small hints on how to improve her form.

But any time she could look away, Clare was watching Teresa. And the entire time, Teresa did not glance once in Clare's direction. Clare didn't know what would be more hurtful, if Teresa hadn't even bothered to look Clare's way, or if she was intentionally ignoring her.

"Who is that?" Clare asked Noel weakly, pointing to Teresa. Even as she hid her true feelings, to even speak about Teresa flooded her with long-buried emotions.

"Oh Teresa? Don't bother. I heard that one of the girls had a crush on Teresa, Marielle. She confessed to Teresa and Teresa broke her jaw."

Clare watched Teresa methodically going through her forms with her sparing partner. Teresa was not holding back, and attacked with calculated and aggressive force.With one particularly quick strike, Teresa brought her practice sword on the girl's shoulder, causing the girl to fall to the ground with a cry of pain. Teresa's mask, her smile, did not even register the slightest pity as the girl fell to her knees.

"She doesn't let anyone close. She's merciless, that one, and smiles the whole time. She's a sadist."

Clare watched Teresa as the girl cradled her shoulder, heading towards the instructor to request medical aid. Teresa shrugged dismissively and jammed her practice sword into the ground, sitting against the wall. Clare could read the coldness and aggression radiating off of her.

_Doesn't let anyone close? _

Clare winced as she felt Noel's practice sword strike her hand. "Hey you, pay attention!" Noel chided.

Eventually, after a few more hours of doing forms with partners, the training ended. Noel ushered her to the doorway, but Clare could not put off her reunion any longer. "One moment," Clare said, dropping her practice sword.

Clare made her way to where Teresa had been training to see Teresa already pacing towards the exit. At first, Teresa didn't seem to notice Clare, but eventually, as she approached, she looked directly into Clare's eyes. Clare brightened as Teresa looked her way.

"Hey new girl," Teresa said with a fake smile, eying Clare coldly.

The inhuman coldness in Teresa's eyes froze Clare dead in her tracks. Teresa evaluated Clare in an instant, dismissed her and passed Clare by before she could even respond.

"Hello... Teresa," Clare said softly, feeling tears of rejection welling up in her eyes. Teresa didn't even care. Clare was struck with the realization that she meant nothing to her. It was more painful than any slap.

"What's the hold up, No-name?" Noel called out. Clare quickly wiped the tears away before turning around.

From behind Noel, Clare could see another girl approaching, a devilish grin on her face. Clare recognized her as the last Claymore who had accompanied the others to kill Teresa. She was the strong one.

"You made friends with Noel? Geez, you must be scraping the bottom of the barrel to befriend a brainless chimp like her," the approaching girl said with an innocent, polite-sounding voice.

"EH?" Noel exclaimed angrily with a cocked eyebrow, turning to face the approaching girl. "Sooner me than Sophia, the first male Claymore!"

"Oh that's hurtful," Sophia said, pouting sarcastically. Clare could immediately tell that Noel and Sophia were kindred spirits. It didn't make sense for them to be enemies.

"You two shouldn't fight. You have a lot in common," Clare said.

Noel rolled her eyes at the notion.

Sophia let out an elaborate sigh, punching Noel's shoulder. "This is just the only way that Noel knows how to show love."

"Idiot, you think we're friends. You're a really sad case," Noel taunted, striking Sophia back. Clare smiled as she watched the two, but a single thought lingered in her mind like a freshly re-opened wound.

_Teresa... I miss you. _

"We wasted enough damn time. Let's grab some food," Noel said, annoyed. Clare followed the two, moving more by instinct than by desire.

_I will find a way for us to be together again, Teresa, I promise, _Clare pledged.


	4. Chapter 4: Approved by Swordpoint

Winds of Nostalgia-

**Chapter 4**: Approval at Swordpoint

_Author's Note: I am so embarrassed! I can't believe I actually had Clare introduce herself to Irene by her name. ThayerBlue1, thank you for bringing that to my attention. I've edited it so now Clare tells Irene that she cannot remember her name. Once again, I cannot thank you enough for catching my error!_

_I did remember Rosemary, but I always thought that Rosemary had graduated well before Teresa and was an inferior #1 whose ass Teresa promptly kicked after receiving her number. (Lovable badass that Teresa is) _

As Clare lay in her bed that night, thoughts of Teresa flooded her mind. Clare curled up in her blankets, bitter tears wetting her pillow as Noel's unsympathetic snoring droned on. Clare squeezed her pillow to the point where if it was human, she would have collapsed its ribcage. She trembled, racked by the pain of her heartache, all in silence. She hadn't said anything to Noel or Sophia. She wouldn't know where to begin. This whole thing didn't make any sense. It was all wrong. It was a cruel joke.

Through her training and as a Claymore, Clare had spent years re-living her brief moments of bliss with Teresa. She'd held those memories tightly. They had given her strength and purpose. From Teresa, she'd found that two broken people could make each other whole again. But now she felt just as broken as before.

_I'm supposed to be strong. _But the last thing that Clare felt was strong now as she lay in miserable silence. She felt weak.

A long forgotten dagger in her heart was twisted with the realization that Teresa might never love her again. _It might be hopeless_. It filled her with an overwhelming dread. Clare couldn't sleep even if she wanted too, and no other concern seemed the least bit important than the one which tore through her like a knife. Since before Teresa's head flew, through the snows of Pieta, and now, to this nonsensical turn of events, Clare had never stopped loving her.

_Swish._

Clare stopped trembling and opened her puffy eyes as residue tears dripped down from them. _What was that noise? _

_Swish. _

It was coming from next-door, from Irene's room. The sound was distinct, the sound an object made when it was accelerated quickly through the air. She weakly turned herself over, wiping her tears away with her sleeve.

_Swish. _

Clare looked into Irene's cell and saw that Irene had found a small dark corner, hidden from most prying eyes. She had a practice sword in hand, and was swinging her overhead slash form repeatedly. Clare could barely hear the muffled noise from Irene's swings, and would likely dismiss it if she were even a few more feet away.

_Swish. _Irene swung with grim determination. The practice sword passed through the air in a blur, and stopped just an inch from the floor.

Clare felt the urge to talk to the silver-haired warrior. Weak with pain, Clare rose from her bed's covers and walked towards Irene, her old but forgotten friend.

_Swish. _

Clare sat down beside the cold iron bars which separated their rooms, just a few feet away from the small culvert, a refuge of shadow in the green-lit chambers where Irene was practicing.

Irene panted, holding her sword at the ready. She eyed Clare, who had caught her red-handed with property she'd stolen from the organization. _How annoying, _Irene thought. She had reason to be annoyed for being caught. Stealing a practice sword, for any purpose, was punished by whipping. Clare had caught Irene breaking the rules. If Clare turned her in to the organization, Clare would earn their approval, which, in a place like this, was quite a valuable commodity.

"I'm sorry, Irene. I didn't intend to disturb you." Hearing Clare's apology, Irene's annoyance softened.Irene had expected that Clare had come to confront her, or threaten her. She hadn't expected that Clare had come just to talk. _You stand to benefit from revealing me? Why aren't you doing it? _Irene was confused. Mercy, compassion, and empathy weren't useful traits to have in a place like this.

Irene sat down, joining her on the stone floor, the web of iron bars the only thing which separated them.

"I was wondering when we could talk more." Irene stole a curious yet quick glance at Clare. There was something very fascinating about the girl, but she couldn't figure out just what it was.

"You practice every night with that stolen practice sword?" Clare asked, eying the stolen sword. She wondered how Irene had managed to smuggle the sword from the practice area. It couldn't have been easy.

"That's right," Irene stated, "I needed it to improve my technique. It was worth the risk."

Clare respected that drive within Irene. Even as a trainee she was so determined, so cold, her body just a tool for her indomitable will. And Clare knew that Irene's willpower would lead her to master one of the most effective techniques Clare had ever seen, the flash sword.

"Your secret is safe," Clare assured her old friend.

"My thanks," Irene said. Irene didn't know for what reason Clare wasn't going to turn her in, but she appreciated it. While getting whipped by the organization would be tolerable, it was not something she looked forward to either. This was the second time that the new girl had done her a kindness.

Irene noticed something that hadn't registered in her first glance at Clare. Clare's eyes were puffy and red. She'd been crying.

"You've been crying,?" Irene asked. Irene was not naturally sympathetic, but she caught the emotion rising within her. It was very strange for her to feel sympathy like this for someone she'd just met. She wondered why it was that she cared about this strange girl. She tried to banish her instinctive emotions, replacing them with the cold serenity which she so preferred. Emotions were so chaotic and random. They were painful, difficult to control and worst of all, they were irrational.

Clare rubbed her eyes, to check for any wetness she had failed to rub away. "I was," Clare said weakly. "Irene, if I told you something, but asked you promise to keep it a secret, could you do that?"

_Of course, _Irene almost said, but she caught herself. _Don't be a fool, Irene, _she thought.

"If keeping the secret is dishonorable or immoral then I cannot promise I will. Otherwise, I would take your secret to my grave," Irene answered.

_I suppose that is good enough. _"My name is Clare," Clare said.

Confused, Irene raised her eyebrows. "You would ask me to keep your name a secret?" Irene asked.

"Don't keep my name a secret... I want the others to know it. Just don't tell them that it was me who remembered it. Tell them that you came up with it."

The odd request took Irene by surprise, but it seemed harmless enough. Also, Irene couldn't pretend that she didn't desire to help her new friend. "I'll do this for you... Clare."

"You were working on your slash," Clare commented. "I can offer you a few improvements to your technique."

"I would appreciate it," Irene said.

"Can I borrow your sword for a second?" Clare asked.

Irene nodded and passed it through the bars. Clare stood, took her stance, and began to explain a few tips of swordsmanship to Irene. Then she preformed the strike. She did it slowly so that Irene could follow it easily, and so that the sound of the slash wouldn't wake Noel.

Then she passed it back to Irene, and watched Irene do a few. For some reason, Clare felt that her broken heart had stopped hurting for the time being. For the brief moment, as she helped Irene with her form, she was at peace again.

"You're stepping too early. Let the power flow from your core," Clare suggested.

Irene nodded and closed her eyes. She tried to feel the power of her swing coming from all parts of her body at once, drawing on her full power like a wellspring. Opening her eyes, she swung.

Clare smiled and nodded. "That was better, Irene."

Irene smiled triumphantly. _What am I doing? _Irene thought, her smile fading. _Why am I smiling?_ She forced the smile from her face.

On the other side of the chamber, a bed creaked as one of the trainees woke and climbed from their bed. Irene's moment of celebration was cut short.

"Stash your practice sword. Someone's awake," Clare warned, craning her neck at the source of the sound.

Irene heard it too. Even though she wanted nothing more than to feel the sensation of her improved swing again and further ingrain it into her memory, she tucked the practice sword back into her hiding spot within the loose rocks of the corner. Clare rose from her sitting position and made her way to the two sets of fresh clothes the Organization passed through the bars early in the night.

Clare pulled the damp clothes from her slender body, tossing them to the side, before she pulled her fresh pair of pants up fully, she felt a pair of eyes on her.

Clare turned to Irene's cell, but Irene had already looked away. Clare smiled to herself, turned back towards the main hall and pulled on her shirt.

It was about an hour before the soldiers came into the hall to wake the rest of the trainees. They rattled their spears, recruits around the hall jumped from their beds. When the doors opened, Clare and Noel walked out together. Clare greeted Irene in line with a smile.

"Ready for another day, no-name?" Noel asked in a taunting tone.

Irene turned around, and spoke with a dull tone. "It's about time we gave her a name."

"You know the coolest name ever?" Noel asked. She waited for a few moments, building the suspense before revealing it. "Noel," Noel said, sticking out her tongue. Clare couldn't help but smile at Noel's childish sense of humor.

Irene paused for a few seconds before certainty shown in her eyes. It was convincing acting.

"Clare," Irene stated simply.

Noel glanced at Irene, and then back to Clare. "Mmn, that fits," she admitted. "Good call elf-girl."

Clare smiled. "Thank you, Irene."

"My pleasure," Irene said graciously, turning back around.

Noel furrowed her brow and glanced between the two other girls. "When did Elf ears get so nice?" Noel asked with disbelief.

"NOEL IS JEALOUS BECAUSE SHE HAS NO FRIENDS!" Sophia shouted from way back in the line.

Noel slammed her foot against the ground. "I am SO going to kick your ass!" Clare could hear Sophia laughing off in the distance.

Soon, the guard captain shouted for the girls to move and the lines set off towards the training room.

Except, as they passed the turn to the training room, Clare knew that today wasn't a normal training day. The Claymores spent just about every day in the training room. Passing it most likely meant that they were being taken to the surface, to the courtyard.

That meant live sparring.

Staying true to character, Clare feigned ignorance. "Why aren't we going to the training room? Are we going to a different training room?" Clare asked.

"Nah," Noel said with an anticipatory grin, "We're going to the courtyard. The Organization is gonna pit us against each other in sparring matches. Winner gets food and rank. The loser goes home hungry and gets their rank bumped down... Plus being a loser and getting their ass beaten, of course." Clare could tell by Noel's tone of voice, her smile, and the lightness in her steps that the prospect of fighting really excited her.

Clare wasn't afraid of the coming match, but she didn't anticipate it in the way that Noel did. There was a difference between not fearing violence and loving it.

They soon reached a long staircase at the end of the subterranean hall. Clare had almost forgotten about it. It was a long spiral staircase made of crumbling, cracked stone, lined with flickering torches.

As they climbed, circling around multiple times, the numbers of guards on the sides of the line grew more thick as they joined the procession from side passages, which Clare suspected were the guard's quarters.

Walking beside them, there were now two guards for every one of the teenage girls in the line. The Organization was cautious and with good reason. Many escapes had been attempted from the Courtyard.

Natural light tore into the crowd as they reached the top floor. Clare, and many other girls winced and turned their heads away from the sun. Eyes accustomed to long periods of soft-light or darkness were suddenly torn into by the bright light of the sun, Clare, eyes-half closed followed Irene onto the sandy ground of the arena. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the brightness until she allowed them to open completely.

Clare looked up to see an iron-cage mesh blocking the rectangular hole in the roof. While it let sun down into the courtyard, it still prevented escape. Her eyes adjusted to the sun, Clare looked out through the bars to the open sky, envying the freedom of the clouds which passed listlessly by. The Claymore trainees were much like caged beasts, only let free when they had been adequately domesticated.

They hadn't been domesticated yet. The Organization had not yet crushed their individuality, their hearts, their souls.

The heart was a difficult thing to stamp out of a human, even a half-human.

The girls spread out into the courtyard. Many chipped and cracked pillars rose from the ground, supporting the roof above. Clare looked over the shoulders of the many trainees around her, looking at the long white-stone walls which surrounded the courtyard. Thick, thorn-covered vines covered the walls. The far wall, opposite the stairwell entrance, had a few windows protected by yet more iron bars, a viewing area.

Through this viewing area, the organization could watch the sparring matches as they unfolded. The Organization set up the matches to feed their curiosity, and at times, they wanted to see the combat potential of the girls in person.

Behind the iron bars of the viewing area, Clare could see a few of the black-hooded Organization men and the distinct form of the unranked, Half-Yoma enforcer, ready to spill blood on their behalf.

One of the blood-hooded men was Dae, the man with the burned face, the first person she had seen during this strange trip in time. When Clare focused in on him, she saw that Dae's eyes were on her as well. His eyes had probably been fixed on her since she'd emerged into the courtyard. The idea of him watching her so carefully made her feel uneasy, but Clare was in no position to complain.

Instructor Sezo was standing in the middle of the arena, the rays of the sun making an artificial square around him. The trainees gathered around, filling the shaded areas surrounding him.

"Live sparring. You should remember the rules... well... most of you," he said, looking to Clare. He moved towards her. "I think you'll be able to figure it out as you go along. You seem to posses an aptitude for these things."

He turned back around, facing the girls which had gathered behind him. "All will fight today. No exceptions. You may notice that we've upgraded your armaments," he said motioning to a pile of swords behind him. Unlike the wooden practice swords they had been using before, these were far thicker and longer. They almost perfectly resembled actual claymores, besides being made of wood and having dull edges.

"Let's not waste any more time. I know I have things to do. And I'm sure you Yoma kids have... things that you like doing," he said with a wry smile. Sezo turned towards Teresa, far back from the crowd, was leaning against one of the pillars, arms crossed and eyes closed in cold confidence.

"_FIRST MATCH_, Teresa and Elda step forwards!' Sezo called out.

Teresa seemed unsurprised, and walked to the sword pile. Fingering through the pile of swords, she pulled out her choice sword and made her way to one side of the arena.

Elda, a who was a head shorter than Teresa with long blond hair that hung loosely on all sides of her face, waited patiently for Teresa to finish choosing, and then made her choice of sword as well, drawing a wooden Claymore from the bin.

She lined up across from Teresa in the sand, testing the weight of the sword in her hand, twirling it forwards and then backwards. Clare knew that the match was already over.

"Begin!" Sezo shouted.

Elda bowed politely, her long light hair swinging as she moved her head. "Good luck to you comrade," Elda said.

Teresa cracked a dark smile, but said nothing.

Elda leveled her sword at Teresa like a long talon and edged in, circling slightly away from Teresa's sword arm. Teresa did not even raise her sword, and her eyes remained closed.

Elda approached cautiously, wary of a trap. After lingering directly outside of the danger-zone for a few moments, Elda stepped in and swung for Teresa's head. The swing came fast.

One moment, Teresa was there. The next moment, she had stepped aside. Missing her target, Elda staggered forward and braced for Teresa's counter, but it never came. Teresa just stood there with a slight smile splayed on her lips, and a penetrating coldness in her eyes.

Elda pressed the attack and swung in a combination this time. "YAH, HYAA, HAAA!" she shouted.

Teresa dodged each attack just enough to not get touched, but remained in the danger-zone. When Elda's last attack struck only dust, Teresa moved her arms for the first time, lashing out quickly with her hand. The sound of the slap hitting Elda's face was crisp and sharp. Her face turned immediately red. It was likely to bruise. Blood seeping from Elda's shocked mouth, Elda shook her head in hopeless defeat. "I yield."

The trainees watching were deathly quiet and for a moment, Elda's yield was greeted with only silence. "That's no how this game works," Sezo shouted back. "You still have a minute in the match, and both of you girls are still standing."

"Oh well," Teresa said. As Teresa shot forward, Elda raised her guard, but the speed wasn't on the same level. Teresa just went low, clubbing Elda in the gut with her practice sword. A gasp of breath escaping her mouth, Elda doubled over blood dripping from her lips as she took labored, rasping breaths. With her opponent on her hands and knees, Teresa swung the sword low, smacking Elda's head upwards with excessive power, sending her backwards onto the sand. Falling with gravity, Elda remained still.

"Looks like I didn't need your luck, _comrade_," Teresa said with a small shrug. Teresa tossed the sword beside Elda's unconscious body and walked from the arena. The crowd silently parted for her. She returned to her pillar, closing her eyes again. She looked bored.

"Winner is Teresa!" Sezo shouted. "Girls, pull Elda out of here and see if she's still alive." A few trainees walked out and hoisted Elda over their shoulders.

"NEXT MATCH, Noel versus Sophia!" Sezo announced.

"This is gonna be AWESOME!" Noel shouted, racing into the arena. Noel picked up the Claymore that Teresa had unceremoniously tossed aside and blew he dust from it.

"I see. You're hoping that after I kick your ass, someone will take pity on you and you'll make your first friend?" Sophia asked innocently, picking up Elda's discarded sword.

"I'm going to shut your mouth for good," Noel snarled.

"Said the lowest ranked Claymore, Noel the dumb-headed," Sophia captioned, tossing her sword onto the ground.

"Figures you'd want to fight like a man!" Noel tossed her sword aside as well, charging Sophia.

"Who am I to say hand-to-hand fighting isn't a viable strategy against Yoma. You girls are the talent, not me," Sezo announced as the two tackled each other, tumbling through the dust, trading blows.

Noel climbed on top, raining elbows down onto Sophia, who did her best to protect her face. Bucking hard Sophia, knocked Noel off and the two rose to their feet again. Both of them were grinning ear to ear.

Noel danced around the outside, bouncing lightly on her feet as Sophia stood still, recovering her breathing.

Noel danced in, throwing a strong kick to Sophia's midsection, which Sophia, blocked with a single arm. Demonstrating superior agility, Noel leaped off her footing and kicked from the other foot, striking Sophia across the jaw.

Sophia was knocked back, blood dripping from her mouth. She came back with a smile, huffing excitedly. Sophia charged.

Noel threw a few quick jabs into Sophia's jaw as she charged, but Sophia was undeterred. She grabbed Noel around the midsection, trapped her arms, and lifted her.

Sophia's arms distorted with bulging veins as she called upon her Yoma powers to hold Noel in mid air and vice grip her midsection. Noel struggled in vain, kicking her feet through the air and began to squeak as Sophia tightened her hold.

Letting out a guttural scream, Noel swung her legs, causing Sophia to stagger. Then Noel swung her forehead down, clubbing Sophia's forehead with a vicious headbutt. Sophia dropped Noel and staggered backwards, clutching her head. "Bitcsshhh!" Noel shouted, voice slurred. She took two steps towards Sophia before collapsing in the dirt, unconscious.

Sophia tried to walk to the crowd, but fell as well. "No winner! That's a tie!" Sezo announced, holding back laughter.

Sezo pulled out a list from his pocket. Clare assumed that the list had all the matches listed on it. "Next Match, Irene versus ... uh..." Sezo glanced up to the viewing area and raised his arms in confusion at the Organization's men.

"It's accurate, Sezo" Dae called down from the window.

"Irene versus _Nameless!_" Sezo announced. Clare and Irene made their way the arena, picking up their swords.

They lined up across from one another. Clare nodded to Irene, and Irene returned the nod. "Don't hold back," Irene muttered. It was just loud enough for Clare to hear.

"I understand." Clare prepared herself.

The match did not last long. Clare ducked Irene's second swing and twirled her blade, striking Irene sharply in the temple with a crack. Irene fell immediately, her sword falling from her hand and into the dust.

The sight of Irene being taken down in two strokes by a girl who had just arrived was enough to make some of the girls laugh. Gritting her teeth, Irene began to slowly pull herself towards her practice sword.

"Irene," Clare insisted, but Irene pulled herself up, legs wobbling. Clare glanced over to Sezo, but Sezo shook his head. The match wasn't over.

Not officially, anyway.

Grimacing, Clare stepped in and struck Irene again. She wobbled and then dropped into the dust once more. This time Sezo called the match.

"Nameless is the winner!"

More laughter echoed from the watching trainees. Clare offered Irene her hand, but Irene shook her head and pulled herself up. Walking unsteadily, Irene turned to the exit without a word.

Clare sighed heavily.

"Nice moves," a familiar voice said. Clare turned around to see Teresa standing there, wearing an enigmatic smile.

Clare said nothing. She just stared softly into Teresa's eyes.

"If the organization as any sense, they'll put you against me next time. I might just break a sweat," Teresa said with a wink.

Clare looked into Teresa's eyes for one pleading moment, before dropping her gaze to the ground. _I don't want to fight you, Teresa. _She thought. _God damn it. I can't cry. Not here. _

Clare held it in. She smiled weakly at Teresa. "I need to go," Clare said, her empty voice spiced with sadness. Turning from Teresa, she made her way towards Noel and Sophia, who were hobbling towards the exit, bleeding and laughing at a joke that Clare didn't see the humor in.

_You really are cruel... Teresa-sama. _

Teresa watched the strange girl leave the courtyard. Even as she was filled with uncertainty about her, she kept her faint smile pasted on her face. She didn't know what else to do.


	5. Chapter 5: Bad Blood

Winds of Nostalgia-

**Chapter 5**: Bad Blood

_Author's Note: Thank you all for the reviews. I'm honored and very appreciative for all the feedback I've been getting. This chapter came a little slower than the others, I know... I found it to be a very difficult chapter to write and I would not let myself submit a chapter until I was satisfied that it took the story in a direction that would be enjoyable to read. _

_To the reviews, yes, I was deeply considering Teresa's "rebellious stage" would play a major part in the plot. I imagine that Rosemary might make a small entrance in my story much later, being that she is the current number one, and when Irene looked over at Clare... I don't know if she saw Clare's scars. I suppose she did, because Clare received them before becoming a Claymore, and if I remember correctly, they were nasty, deep Yoma scars, so they're probably still there. I think the confusing part is that I don't remember her having them when she was an adult in the anime. (Probably just one of the show's many continuity errors lol). I meant that sideways glance more as a just minor, kindling sexual attraction coming from Irene._

"Have trouble sleeping?' Noel asked Clare, as they changed into their new set of clothes, side-by-side.

For the first time, Clare hadn't been awake yet by the time the guards rattled the bars of their room. She'd been woken up alongside Noel.

Clare nodded sheepishly. A lot had been on her mind that night. The building frustration about Teresa as well as the fact that Irene was now mad at her.

Clare had hoped that Irene would practice with her again in secret, but Irene never got out bed. In fact, Irene had been avoiding Clare ever since Clare had defeated her in the sparring match. Clare sighed.

"So no midnight sparring match?" Noel teased.

Clare was surprised. "Were you spying on us?"

"Just because I'm snoring doesn't mean that I'm actually asleep," Noel said, giving Clare a wink. "Besides, I promised that I'd keep you out of trouble."

Clare eyed Noel warily. _Is Noel going to be able to keep her mouth shut?_ Sensing Clare's suspicion, Noel gave an offended huff. "I'm no snitch. I'm not going to tell on her or something. Besides what a lame secret anyhow. A stolen practice sword... Oooo."

Clare nodded. "She didn't come out tonight. I think she's angry."

"Seems like wounded pride," Noel said with a shrug. The two of them looked over to Irene's cell to see her sitting in her bed with a serious expression. "She's not the type to take it easy on herself. So when she sees you, it reminds her of how she screwed up. She's mad at herself, not you."

Thinking it over, Clare agreed with Noel's assessment. Irene did hold herself to an almost unattainble standard.

"She was like that most of the time I knew her... total shut in, no damn sense of humor," Noel tilted her head to the side, gazing at Irene as if she were analyzing a strange life form.

"Noel... you're talking a little loud," Clare warned.

"Hahaha, whoops!" Noel said, laughing, "I guess I'm so used to her not responding, that I kinda asusmed she's deaf." Noel took a rare moment to contemplate. "Anyhow, you're both really quiet and super serious and neither of you have a sense of humor. You guys are so cute together," she said, slapping Clare's arm.

Clare sighed.

They made their way to the training ground, but as they entered the training room, Clare saw that the once-open area had been re-arranged. Large walls had been set up, creating the illusion of hallways within the larger room. Random clutter, such as barrels and wagons were also set up at random intervels, like a play town.

Clare remembered this test: "leadership aptitude", also known as team sparring.

"Welcome to leadership aptitude!" Sezo shouted to the entering girls.

"What the hell?" said Noel, looking at how the room had been rearranged. Many of the other girls exchanged confused looks. _That's right, they ran this test right after upgrading our Claymores to the larger practice size. None of the other girls have seen this before. _Clare recalled.

"This test is going to determine the leadership traits of the strongest warriors among you. We will run ten matches. We will start with the strongest. Teresa and Clare, step forward."

It was odd to be named the strongest when in her previous training she had been the weakest. That part felt good.

And also, to be pit against Teresa. That part felt wrong.

Clare glanced over to the confident-eyed warrior. _I'm not sure if I can fight her. _Clare took a deep breath and closed her eyes. _Focus Clare. _

She stepped forwards, wiping any sign of emotion from her face, so only a dead-eyed silver glare remained.

"You will now pick your teams at your own discretion. Teresa has first pick," Sezo added.

"Hmnn..." Teresa mused, placing her finger to her lip. "Who will I pick..." she reached out with her hand, moving her finger to all of the various girls. _Noel is the strongest, but she's built up a rapport with Clare... if I chose Noel, would she take it easy on Clare? _Teresa considered it. _No, Noel is too competitive to take it easy on anyone. If I chose Noel, I deprive Clare of a natural ally and also gain the strongest warrior under my own command. She is ideal._ "Noel."

"Aw shit!" Noel exclaimed bitterly, stepping beside Teresa. "No hard feelings if I kick your ass, right Clare?"

Clare nodded, coolly. "I won't hold it against you if I lose, Noel, but I don't intend to."

"Ohhh? That's what I like to hear," she replied with a wolfish grin.

_My pick, _Clare thought. The next choice was clear. "Sophia!"

"Oh... your first pick, captain? You're going to make me blush," Sophia said warmly. "Let's kick Noel's ass," she whispered as she joined her.

Teresa pondered her next pick for a few seconds. _Who is next in line as far as combat potential?_ "Elda." Elda seemed surprised to be picked by Teresa, considering that Elda had spent a few hours healing the injuries she'd recieved fighting Teresa. Still, she went to Teresa's side without a comment.

Clare already knew her next pick. "Aria."

The soft-faced, ponytailed Claymore walked forward and joined Clare's side. Clare had seen Aria's match. She was quick, clever, and determined, and had a very strong thrusting attack. _Her strong thrust will be invaluable in the team fight. If she gets an opening, she can jab and wound an enemy who isn't expecting it. _

"Christina." Teresa's last pick stepped forward. Christina was tall, lanky, had short hair with long bangs, while normally friendly, she was graceful and dangerous with a practice claymore.

It was now Clare's turn. In order of strenght, Jenna was the logical choice, but Clare had a different Claymore in mind.

"Irene."

Her pick took nearly everyone by surprise. "Captain... are you sure?" Aria questioned softly.

All eyes turned to Irene as she walked forward. A few muffled giggles came from the crowd. To the other Claymores, the choice of Irene seemed idiotic. She was awkward and her form was poor. _But they also don't know that she's been sleep deprived for the last few weeks, practicing all night. Today however, she's well rested. _

Irene eyed Clare with mixed confusion and contempt. "If you think that picking me to fight above my level will earn my favor, you're mistaken," Irene said coldly.

"What this team needs is a leader," Clare said to Irene. "We have a minute to plan. How do you want to use your minute Captain Irene?"

xxxxxxxx

After the minute to plan passed, Teresa led her group forwards, taking the lead. Noel flanked her, while Elda and Christine stayed a few steps back, playing more of a support role. It was a simple plan and a simple formation that was designed to utilize Teresa and Noel's fightig ability.

Walking calmly through the maze of makeshift walls, Teresa headed directly towards the enemy team. Soon, they were in sight.

Clare and Irene stood shoulder to shoulder. But there was no sign of Sophia or Aria.

"I'm on Clare. Noel, you're on Irene! Elda and Christine, there are two enemies out of sight. When they show themselves, engage them!" Teresa ordered.

As anticipated, Noel rushed forward recklessly, closing in on Irene. Noel leapt into the air, bringing her Claymore down. "YAHOO!"

Clare leapt in the way, teeths clenched, blocking the strike, which struck with surprising force. "Irene, you can't handle her, fall back!" Clare called out before pressing the attack on Noel. Irene nodded and began to backstep.

"I'm your opponent!" Teresa said with a cold grin, leaping towards Clare. Facing the prospect of fighting both Teresa and Noel, Clare backed up, parrying attacks from Noel and trying to keep away from Teresa. Irene gauged the distances. _We've lured Teresa and Noel far enough from the other two. _

"SOPHIA, NOW!" Irene shouted. With the signal given, Sophia, on the other side of the makeshift walls, swung her practice claymore into one of the supports, toppling the wall section inwards. The wall section fell down, cutting Teresa and Noel off from the rest of their squad. Sophia and Aria charged through the newly created gap. For the moment, it was a two versus four.

"Elda! Christine! Get here now!" Teresa called out, seeing that she had been trapped.

"Focus all efforts on the enemy captain! We only have seconds!" Irene shouted.

Clare led the attack, pushing hard on Teresa with heavy swings in order to prevent her from escaping. Teresa could barely parry Clare's attack and was pressed back. _She is just as good as I guessed, _Teresa thought. Teresa looked for an opening, any means she could use to turn the situation around.

Taking steps away from Clare's rapid swings, Teresa couldn't establish proper footing to make a withdrawl. Soon, she found herself against a wall. The situation was progressing badly. Teresa grit her teeth. Aria and Sophia, attacking from both sides, began to take swings at Teresa as well, and even as Teresa tried to release her powers in order to increase her speed, she quickly fell under the combined attacks.

Noel, on the other hand, quickly fell an excited craze. She focused all of her efforts on Irene, deciding to eliminate her quickly. Heart pounding and electrified with adrenaline, Irene frantically dodged and blocked Noel's strikes. _Compared to Clare, Noel seems slow... is this really Noel's top speed? _Irene wondered.

Irene ducked another attack and side-stepped a slash. _I can easily evade these, _Irene realized. _Why am I even on the defensive? _Dodging another set of attacks, Irene saw a window and took it, striking Noel in the hip.

As Teresa fell unconcious from the attacks of three warriors, Clare and the two others turned to Noel and Irene's battle. "We need to support Irene!" Sophia urged, as Noel's attacks continued to drive Irene back.

"No!" Clare commanded, stopping Sophia with her sword. "Irene needs to do this alone." Clare could see that Elda and Christine finally had made their way over the ruins. "Aria and Sophia, engage Elda and Christine. I will render support when needed."

With Teresa down, Clare watched her three team-mates in their respective battles. But most closely of all, Clare watched Irene struggle against Noel. _You can do it, Irene. _

Irene stumbled backwards as Noel's power knocked her off balance. Breathing heavily, Irene calmed the chaos in her own body and regained her footing, blocking Noel's next attack. Irene remembered what Clare had done to her in their match. _Clare anticipated my attack, evaded it, and swung, knocking me out. _

Irene cleared her mind. Blocking Noel's swings, Irene anticipated her third, evaded the overhand slash, and swung.

_CRACK _

The wooden sword made a sharp sound as it smacked against Noel's jaw. Irene couldn't believe her eyes as Noel crumpled to the ground. _It worked! _The sound of practice swords clashing in the background shook her from her moment of celebration.

"Clare, assist Aria! I will support Sophia!" Irene bellowed.

Soon, all four members of Teresa's squad were either knocked out, or close enough to knocked out for the match to be over.

"Good plan, Irene," Clare said.

"That was awesome! Did you see how confused Teresa got?" Aria exclaimed happily, laughing with Sophia.

Irene stepped away from the other two and towards Clare. "I underestimated you as a comrade, Clare," Irene said appreciatively.

Sezo, who had been watching the battle, approached the girls. "While I don't appreciate you wrecking my course, I do appreciate the ingenuity. That was a well executed plan. They say that one of the greater talents of command is recognizing the talents of your subordinates. In that respect, you have done well, Clare. However," Sezo said turning to Irene. "The real command talent came from a most unexpected source. Irene, you've made quite an impression for yourself. Congradulations."

Clare eyed the unconscious Teresa, blood seeping from her scalp. As Irene led the others back to the entrance and the other girls, Clare stayed, and knelt beside Teresa.

"It's nothing serious," Sezo said, walking beside her, "You girls have resiliant bodies. These three will wake up in about a minute."

Clare ignored him, placing her hand on Teresa's chest. Her breathing was irregular. _Collapsed lung. She could heal this herself, but it would be incredibly painful._ Teresa looked smaller than Clare remembered. She was just in her training outfit, lacking the steel shoulder-pauldrons she'd worn back then. Her hair, rather than let down, was drawn back in a ponytail, with two small collections of hair hanging down on either side. A lot about Teresa was different than it was back then.

Clare felt her Yoki, already synchronized with Teresa's. Clae was surprised by just how easy it was. But it made sense. Clare's Yoki had originally come from Teresa. Closing her eyes, Clare assisted Teresa's healing. The gash on Teresa's head sealed itself in seconds. A few moments later, Teresa opened her eyes. Clare could feel Teresa's wounds on her shoulder and back. Focusing her Yoki, Clare helped to quickly fix them, taking away the pain.

When Clare opened her eyes, Teresa was looking up at her. "What are you doing?' Teresa asked suspiciously.

Clare didn't respond to Teresa's question. Instead, she rose to her feet. "I'm sorry we hurt you, Teresa," Clare said softly.

Clare turned towards the exit, passing a confused Sezo.

_Yoki healing? A trainee learning such an ability should be impossible, _Sezo thought.

Teresa sat up and watched the new girl leave. _Sorry? _Despite the beating she'd recieved, there was no pain. _She healed me... and apologized. _

"You've been given a rare gift of kindness, Teresa," Sezo said with a bemused grin.

Teresa hid any surprise from her features. "I didn't need nor ask for her kindness. I owe her nothing," she replied. _Still... she gave me her kindness nontheless. Why? _Teresa's eyes went distant as she considered it. It made no sense. It was different from the childish infatuation that Teresa had warded off from the weak girl, Marielle a week before. It seemed deeper, somehow. _She must have some ulterior motive. What is she after? Perhaps she is just weak and irrational? Is some silly sentiment driving her to do this? If so... maybe it's something I could turn to my advantage. _

Teresa knew one thing: she would find out exactly what this new girl, Clare, wanted with her. She had sensed something faintly during the battle, but when Clare had put her hand on Teresa, she knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. _Her Yoki mimicks mine. _Clare had gone from a nusiance to becoming a threat and a complete enigma. _I need answers. _

Clare exited from the maze to see the other trainees offering congradulations to her team. _Many of them look at us like we're heroes. Looks like, for the moment, I am number one, _Clare thought. She looked over to Irene who was withdrawn and quiet as ever, but in her serious expression, she wore her pride openly. It was the closest Irene looked to the Irene that Clare remembered.

Sophia and Aria had a small crowd of fans and friends around them and were laughing happily. "What can I say... I'm just a natural," Sophia said, waving her hand with faked humility.

Clare made her way to Irene, who leaned against the wall, alone. "Irene, we're done for the day, let's get out of here to somplace quieter," Clare said, motioning for the doorway.

"Very well," Irene said with a nod.

The two of them were questioned by the guards, but once it was confirmed that Clare and Irene had already completed their combat, they were allowed to return to their cells, where food was waiting for them.

Clare entered her cell and found a bowl of soup, thick with vegetables and beans. It was a good meal. "May I come in?" Irene asked, standing at the doorway to Clare and Noel's cell, her food in hand. Clare nodded.

Irene sat down beside Clare and the two of them ate. Irene ate her soup in silence, "I owe you two things," Irene said firmly, putting her spoon down into the bowl.

Clare wanted to tell Irene that she owed her nothing, but she knew better than to question Irene's sense of duty. "What things?" Clare asked.

"First, my gratitude, for allowing me that oppertunity when no other girl would have trusted her team to my judgment, you did so. I don't know why you did it... and I don't know why you had so much faith in my abilities. I feel like..." Irene stopped, her eyes wide with curiosity "I feel like you know me better than you should. You are powerful, but you don't weild your power like an immature girl. You weild it like a warrior. And you show me respect, even though I've done little to earn it. You honor me, Clare."

Irene's eyes showed a great appreciation, which soured to regret.

"I also owe you my apology for acting the way I did after you beat me yesterday."

"Irene," Clare answered. "It's all right. We face these trials, and whether or not we move forward or run away. That seperates those of us who are fit for battle from those who are not," she quoted.

Fascination filled Irene's face. "You're right," she said. "Still, I shouldn't have acted that way to... to well..." Embarassment and indecision filled Irene's face as she continued, "a _friend_."

"I consider you to be a friend as well," Clare said with a smile.

The two enjoyed their time together, away from the other Claymores. They continued to talk as they ate, talking about potential tactics for fighting in team battles and various ideas for sword and Yoki techniques. Irene even smiled a few times. When they were finished, they snuck to Irene's room, into the corner, and practiced with the practice sword together. Irene had improved greatly.

Clare caught herself as she joked and smiled with Irene. _Is Teresa any better than Irene? Teresa hurts and uses those around her, while Irene is dutiful and loyal to her comrades. _

As Irene talked, Clare looked at Irene's serious expression and her long hair, which flowed down from her head like a shimmering silver stream and thought to herself, _I never noticed just how beautiful Irene was. _


	6. Chapter 6: Pleasant Dreams

Winds of Nostalgia-

**Chapter 6: **Pleasant Dreams

When Miria opened her eyes, she felt the cool breeze on her naked skin. The air was warm... far warmer than the air of Pieta should be. She blinked awkwardly to see a sky that was blue and warm, with soft clouds drifting lazily by.

Miria sat up in place, feeling the discomfort of sharp rocks where she sat. She ignored the biting pain of the sharp rocks against her skin. She looked down and saw that no clothes covered her body. But stranger still, she was not in Pieta. Wilderness surrounded her, lush and green. Leaves and rocks, not soft snow, crunched beneath her as she stirred. She had woken up in a clearing in a forest somewhere. Her skin felt aglow in the warmth of the sun.

Miria eyed her surroundings with cynicism. _This must be a dream. The last I remember, there was snow and wind... _Miria's eyes widened. _I was fighting!_ She remembered the warrior, the one Clare had identified as "Teresa". _I tried to cut her down. _Miria remembered.

And that was where the memories ended. Now she was here. _Or am I here at all? This must be an illusion. _But as Miria looked around to the forest around her, and felt the pain and pressure of the rocky ground beneath her uncovered legs, she knew it was too vivid to be a simple dream. She even felt a slight pang of hunger.

_When that Teresa woman touched me, it must have trapped me in this place. For it to trap me in an illusion this vivid, it must be a being of extraordinary power... a technique that sealed an enemy within a fantasy world would be very powerful. _Miria breathed deeply, feeling her lungs fill with sweet-smelling southern air and she concentrated on her strange circumstances.

Miria knew that she had to break the fantasy. If she remained for too long, it could endanger her. She was comforted by the fact that she still had her consciousness that she probably wasn't dead yet... unless this was an afterlife. _That's crazy, there's no afterlife, _Miria thought to herself. It surprised her sometimes just how much her subconscious yearned for an afterlife, or the God of Rabona. It went to show that at her core, Mirira still clung to some irrational sentiments.

Miria squeezed her eyes shut and tried to break the fantasy with sheer force of will. _WAKE UP! _She thought, mustering as much willpower as she could. She had no time for pleasant dreams. Her comrades needed her in the north and conscious.

She opened her eyes again. The air was still warm. The surroundings were still green. She heard a bird chirp in the distance before fluttering over her head. A leaf twirled lazily down from a branch above. It was no use.Miria was struck with the sheer frustrating absurdity of the whole thing.

Coming to her feet, Miria stood, naked in the sun. _Illusion or not, I felt pain, and I feel hunger. I need clothes. It's possible that dying in this place might destroy my real mind as well. _

First, she needed to find out where she was. She needed a vantage point in this woodland dreamscape. Miria climbed the nearby hill, pulling herself up mossy rocks and steel hills of tangled roots. She reached the summit just as the sun had started to set, she phantomed into the branches of a tall tree. The horizon seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. The expansiveness of this dream world impressed Miria. _The scope of this area is amazing. Maybe I actually was transported or taken to this place. It all seems too real to be a construct of someone's mind..._ Focusing her eyes, she scanned the horizon, lit by the blood-red light of the setting sun, and saw smoke rising in the distance.

The smoke rose lazily from the cleared area, but the level of smoke seemed normal, from stoves, smiths, and other normal human activities, not from battle.

She was lucky that a town was nearby. It would help her get her bearings.

She waited until the night was full before she broke in to one of the houses and stole a robe to cover her naked body. She strolled from the town, keeping her eyes and hair hidden from all the humans that passed her in the dark. She wanted to remain invisible for now.

At the edge of town, she saw a sign that marked the town's name. _Astaga, _it read. Miria re-read the sign. _Astaga was razed by Yoma ten years ago. There should be nothing here but rubble and bones._ Miria glanced to the town, which appeared to be bustling and pristine. _Is this a past? An illusion of the past? _

She was locked in an illusion from which she couldn't escape. It was possible that as she dreamed this, her real body was being slowly killed by a Yoma in Pieta, or cut apart on an operating table by the Organization. She felt another surge of frustration and urgency, but the illusion showed no signs of fading.

Miria took the road north, walking in the darkness. She had no particular reason in mind, but her instincts guided her that way. Miria had commanded long enough to know that while a well-devised strategy could turn the tide of a battle, the true spark of command came from within, from the faintest of feelings that pointed the way in times of chaos and crisis. Only the best commanders knew to listen.

She did that and walked the northern road for a few days. It was near dawn of the second day that she felt a distant Yoki, barely a whisper. It probably would have been safer to hide or flee from the Yoki, yet it called to her. Miria obeyed her gut once more. She felt curiously drawn to the Yoki, and decided to remain on the path. She drew towards it, the presence of the Yoki growing. This was a dream, after all, Miria had little to lose.

It was approaching her, heading the other way on the road. Miria kept her head up, eyes watchful down the long road, the sensation of the Yoki foremost in her mind.

A figure approached, silver armor glinted in the setting sun. As Miria recognized the woman in front of her, shock hit her like a bucket of cold water. She stared at the beautiful illusion. The Claymore was marching briskly, her eyes warm and observant as she walked. She approached Miria. Emotions overwhelming her heart and mind, Miria closed her silver eyes.

"You are traveling lightly for this road, human. Do you need help?" Hilda said with innocent concern. Miria hid herself in her robes well. Hilda thought she was a human.

Miria breathed slowly, cursing the cruelty of the illusion which brought the dead back to life, and re-opened her deepest wounds_. _A mix of joy and confusion danced inside of Miria as she listened to Hilda's soft voice. Miria struggled against the emotions.

"You do not need to fear me. My name is Hilda. I was raised in Pilaya, just east of here. I want to help you." Hilda was used to being feared. It was all part of being a half-Yoma. Hilda had helped many humans as a Claymore. She'd established something of a reputation. Sometimes people did not shrink away from her in fear. Sometimes, the villagers did not lock their children away when she passed. Sometimes they smiled. Those moments, when the humans did not hate her, were Hilda's favorite moments.

_Hilda doesn't recognize me... then that means we never met. _Miria thought to herself. _How do I explain? _Being confronted by her old friend left disoriented Miria. _This should not be happening. Is this the fantasy I'm locked in? A fantasy with Hilda? _If invoking Hilda in this fantasy was a ploy to keep Miria distracted, it was an effective strategy. Miria felt nearly powerless to the strong urges which tugged at her... to hold Hilda... to apologize... to confide in her again.

Miria tried to bludgeon her feelings with rationality._ She doesn't recognize me. This is not the Hilda I knew. Things are not as they were. This isn't real. _

Illusion or not, lying to Hilda would be dangerous. Hilda was an empath-type Claymore. She'd see through the lie immediately, and it would raise her suspicion.

Pulling back her hood, Miria revealed her platinum blond hair and finally opened her eyes.

Hilda was surprised. She hadn't expected that the woman in front of her was a Claymore. Still, the Claymore did not seem to be a threat. Hilda's momentary shock faded rapidly. "You are good at hiding your Yoki. I thought you were human. I don't recognize you," she said with an embarrassed smile. Hilda was just as Miria remembered, beautiful and happy, radiating an infectious warmth that Miria found difficult to resist.

"Are you headed south on a request? I sensed no Yoma there." Miria tried to sound cold and confident, like the Claymore she had become, but her eyes betrayed her, exposing her feelings. Miria turned them slightly away, hoping to hide them from Hilda.

"No," Hilda said with a shrug. "I just like to walk. It's beautiful country and a dangerous road for humans."

_She walks the road to protect humans. She's probably saved dozens over the years, but she wouldn't be the type to say so. She'd consider it bragging. _Miria smiled softly, but forced the smile from her face.

"My name is Miria."

"Strange, I've never heard of you, yet you look like an adult warrior... You look tired Miria. I know a place just up the road where we can light a small fire and rest. Since you're a guest in my province, it'd be my pleasure."

Miria nodded.

The two quickly set camp. Hilda gathered a few rocks in a circle while Miria snapped a few dead branches from a tree. The sat down on opposite sides of the materials as Hilda sparked the kindling with flint. The showering sparks scattered on the dried grass. They curled and smoked at first, then a small flame began to grow. There was silence for a few minutes. Miria continued to eye her old friend curiously, as she wondered just what might have caused this strange dream. Even if it was fake, seeing Hilda again filled Miria with an almost intoxicating nostalgic joy. It almost made Miria want to stay in this fantasy. But, deep down, Miria knew she couldn't. She hid her passions beneath her cold exterior, as she'd done for many months now... as she'd taught herself to in order to become strong... to get justice.

"Miria... you said. It's time to tell me what's going on. Who are you and why are you here?" Hilda said. Her voice was not threatening or cold, but nonetheless, she was firm.

While Miria had the appearance of a Claymore, there were half a dozen things suspicious about her... the clothes, lack of weapon, being on the road in Hilda's province just to name a few. Hilda knew something was wrong. She would be stupid not to know.

Still, she hadn't sensed any deception or threat in Miria. Had she sensed either, she would have cut her down already. But she hadn't, so Hilda gave Miria a chance to speak.

Hilda's question broke through the comfortable fantasy. Miria didn't want to talk or think about reality. She wanted to just sit with Hilda for a few moments, in peace. But Miria knew she needed to answer. For the first time in a long while, she spoke untethered words, confiding her thoughts as they flowed through her head.

"I can't say. When I woke up a few days ago, I was naked and alone in a forest I'd never seen before. And from what I've seen, it's as if the world itself has changed. You said you didn't recognize my name. I don't think I'm supposed to exist here."

She told Hilda every detail, from the beginning. By the time Miria got to the awakened hunt where she'd unknowingly killed Hilda, found out about what Ophelia had done. She described the rage and pain that had possessed her. And how, in anguish, she'd partially awakened. Even as her body was composed, and her tone steady, her eyes swam with moisture. She closed her eyes for a few moments, calming herself.

But she kept talking. She talked about Clare, Deneve, and Helen. She talked about Pieta. And then she talked about her desire to topple the organization. She talked about what her investigation into the organization had uncovered. And then Clare's vision, the Claymore in the night who had knocked her out, and how she'd woken up naked in the forest.

By the time she'd finished, the fire burned down to small glowing embers, but Hilda still sat, patiently listening.

Miria looked with a sad smile into Hilda's gentle eyes. "I don't even know if you're real. I never thought I'd..." The tears were gathering in Miria's eyes now. She didn't bother to wipe them away. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Hilda."

Hilda rose, and approached with soft, graceful steps, her face flickering with the orange of the flames. Miria's expression was locked on her, her eyes windows to her pain and her regret.

"You... are filled with so much pain and determination," Hilda said. She reached out and squeezed Miria's shoulder. The touch felt as though it were touching Miria's soul directly. Miria relaxed beneath her touch. It felt like Hilda was absolving Miria of the weight that rested on her shoulders. But Miria couldn't let all of the weight go. She couldn't be absolved yet. She still had a responsibility that she could not run away from.

Miria pushed Hilda's hand away. "I need to snap out of this illusion. I have a team that depends on me," she stated.

"Miria," Hilda said, kneeling in front of the distraught warrior so her eyes could lock into Miria's, "I was raised here and lived here. This world is real." Hilda gave Miria a serious look. "If the Organization is guilty of breeding the Yoma, we need to put a stop to it."

"How can you trust me?" Miria asked, shocked that Hilda had not completely rejected her story.

Hilda's eyes stared into Miria's, open and blank, as if they were soaking in Miria's thoughts and feelings. "I can feel the power radiating from you. If you wanted to kill me, it would be easy. I don't even think Rosemary could stand against you. And.. only a few things can wound a person as deep as the pain I felt within you, Miria. I believe you."

"I'm sorry I killed you, Hilda," Miria said.

"It's the future that is important."

_(Two Months Later) _

"They're not ready. They haven't even received their numbers yet!" Orsay exclaimed.

Rimuto, the leader of the Organization's project, sat in a large chair, akin to a throne, hands thoughtfully massaging his temples as he listened.

"Nevertheless, this situation must be dealt with in such a way that the odds of success are acceptable. Dae, you have taken an unnatural interest in the trainees. Are they ready?" Rimuto asked, glancing questioningly to Dae.

"Clare and Teresa could both defeat our current number one, Rosemary, single-handed," Dae answered, the healthy half of his lips curled up in a smile.

"Then deploy them. We need this situation contained," Rimuto commanded.

Dae saluted and turned to leave, but stopped himself, remembering something. "Irene and Clare's fighting power are both increased significantly when they fight together," Dae added.

"Fine then. We deploy Clare, Teresa, and Irene. They will join up with our current number One, Rosmary, our current number two, Aquilia."

Giving a half-hearted salute, Dae left the meeting room. He set off for the training facility so he could administer the orders personally.

"The three strongest trainees, and our two strongest warriors will be enough to destroy this rebellion," Orsay said coldly.

"Have we traced the one who leaked the location of our Yoma-producing facility? I want that traitor flayed." Rimuto said.

"We believe it's Rubel. He didn't report in as planned. He probably fled."

_Rubel... that smug, sunglass-wearing bastard. I should have known, _Rimuto thought.

"Orsay, Find Rafaela. Convince her to take a number and have her join the rest of our forces. We'll need her for what's coming. Also, I want you to set loose as many Yoma and awakened beings in the south as you can manage. We need to remind them just how much they need our protection."

_How did Hilda find that Yoma-producing facility? With that knowledge, she could convince all the organization's warriors to defect. We're lucky that the rebellion has been contained to the south. _

xxxxxxx

In the middle of the night, Clare was waked by a loud click as the door to her cell unlocked. Two robed men from the Organization's men walked in and told her to follow them. Rousing herself from her bed, she obeyed.

When she followed them into the hallway, Clare saw that they had roused Irene as well. The two exchanged confused glances, but said nothing.

They were quietly escorted down the hall where two more guards and Teresa were already waiting. "Good evening comrades," Teresa said with a smile.

The three top-ranked trainees were taken down the hall, past the training room to an armory. Inside, the walls were covered in armor, weapons, and other equipment. "Equip yourselves with a set of armor and a Claymore," one of the guards commanded in firm tone. Quietly, they suited up. The Claymores and clothing they were given had no symbols.

And that was when Dae entered, flanked by two more guards and gave his instructions.

"There's been a rebellion of warriors in the south. You girls are to assist the current number one and number two in resolving the situation. Take the southern path to the town of Kirz. Clare is in charge of the operation. "

Clare nodded. The other two remained quiet.

The trio set off through the gates of just as the first rays peered over the horizon.

They passed the grassy plains which surrounded the Organization's headquarters when the morning was still young. The small, yet rolling hills spread out in all directions. The grass was mostly green, and flowers spotted some of the ridges.

The further south they marched along the dusty road, the greener things seemed to become. For a few hours of their journey, a small stream followed their trail, it's crystal clear water babbling among the shining rocks. A wheat-field stretched out beyond it.

It was beautiful. At least, it was more beautiful than the desert and rock that Clare had been stationed in in her other life. _Another life. Another time. _

Clare stopped for a moment and eyed the stream, and the many differently-colored rocks beneath, smiling softly. Irene stopped beside her, and the two girls took in the beautiful stream, shoulder to shoulder. "Nature can be so beautiful," Clare said longingly.

Irene smiled beside her. "Indeed."

The forests grew thicker and greener as they trod onwards, but it was getting dark. As the sun set, Clare stopped the group and found a clearing on the side of the road to set up camp. Teresa began work on a fire.

Clare watched her, and suddenly remembered the last time she had seen Teresa setting up a fire in the moonlight. Clare had been a little girl, hopeless, pained, and lonely. She followed Teresa even as the soles of her shoes wore through, and her feet had began to crack and bleed. Clare had fallen behind that day, and just when she thought she'd lost Teresa, she'd seen the light of Teresa's fire.

That light had allowed Clare to make it to Teresa's campsite. That light had brought her to the bandits who ambushed them. That light had set in motion events which had led to Teresa's death.

Clare shook herself back to reality. _Things are different here. There are no bandits. And Teresa... still doesn't care. _

Clare turned her back on the campfire and walked out into the dark forest alone, her metal boots cracking twigs and crunching crispy leaves with each step. Eventually, she found a large river deep within the forest, it's steady current glistening in the moonlight, it's glassy surface a mirror for the stars. Clare stood, in full armor, her long straight blond hair ruffling softly in the breeze.

"Clare," Irene said, walking to her side. Despite the fact that Clare didn't hear Irene approach, Irene's voice didn't shock her. Clare had gotten used to it. Irene and her had fought together many times and spent many days laughing and talking. She had learned to trust her implicitly. For some reason, when Clare was with Irene, the pains of her past didn't seem to bother her as much.

Clare sneaked a glance at Irene. She was serious, as always, radiating strength. Irene was always so strong, so constant. In an uncertain world, Irene was always there. Her silver hair and her soft pallid skin seemed to shine even brighter in the moonlight. She was so beautiful... so strong... so mysterious.

Clare felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks and she looked away, her head feeling light. It was the first time that they were ever truly alone together.

"Want to spar, Clare?" Irene asked.

"Good idea. We need to adapt to the swords," Clare replied.

They both drew their new swords, facing one another on the grassy shore of the moonlit river. Irene stepped in first and swung predictably. Clare had seen Irene open matches with this same attack a hundred times already. She blocked as she always did, but she was surprised as Irene's Claymore clattered to the ground. _She dropped it? _

Clare could hardly react before Irene stepped in again and wrapped Clare in her arms, pinning her arms against her body and pulling her close. Clare struggled against Irene's tight embrace, letting out a gasp of exertion but couldn't lift her sword arm. Irene's smooth arms wrapped tightly around her body, their bodies pressed tightly together, too tightly for Clare to wiggly free.

With Irene's warm body pressed against her's and Irene's hot breaths moistening Clare's neck, Clare could feel Irene's chest heaving quickly. _She's breathing fast. _Clare thought. Then, Clare realized that she was breathing quickly too. She looked up into Irene's face, and her dilated eyes. Clare relaxed in Irene's embrace.

"Let my arms free," Clare whispered huskily.

Irene loosened her grip, but her face hovered close to Clare's. As soon as Clare's arms got free, she pulled Irene tightly against her and their lips hungrily joined.

They fell to the ground, their new armor clicking as Irene fell atop Clare, kissing each other with wanton passion. Clare wrapped her legs around Irene's slender body as she ran a single hand through Irene's smooth silver hair.

"Clare," Irene gasped.


	7. Chapter 7: The Lock and Key

Winds of Nostalgia-

**Chapter 7**: The Lock and the Key

_Hello again everyone! I apologize for the delay. I had to fly back to the east coast for college which will begin shortly... combine that with my friends and I going on a Halo: Reach binge and my jet lag and I've been pretty preoccupied. _

_I hope the wait has not been too bad for you all and that it hasn't broken immersion all that badly. I have had a long time to contemplate what I wanted to do with this chapter. The writing for the previous chapters came very easily to me, but with this chapter... and I suspect the chapters that follow... I feel like I need to construct each of my paragraphs with care. _

_That said, I am very satisfied with what we have and I am very excited as to how you all will react. _

Teresa watched the fire burn down alone, until just a small orange glow amidst the pale moonlight remained. Only the rustling leaves around her kept her company. She was alone with her thoughts. She preferred it this way, with no one to interrupt her or bother her. Her thoughts were orderly and peaceful, systems of thought built upon one another and within one another, an intangible web that only she could decipher.

Irene and Clare had fallen asleep on the opposite side of the fire. Teresa could hear their deep breaths and saw them fidget in their sleep as they dreamed. They only lay a few feet from one another.

Over the months, Teresa had noticed the way Clare had looked at her. Clare had also, despite being a stronger swordsman, shown kindness and compassion for her that she did not show the other girls. Both of these things that Teresa observed remained unexplained, in her mind. Teresa did not like unexplained things.

Teresa glanced over at Clare as she slept, examining the unexplained bond that Clare had expressed towards her. The bond served as a nuisance for Teresa, but it existed nonetheless.

At the very least, Clare had not tried to grab her or kiss her like Marielle had done. _But what is she after? What does she want from me? _Those questions had been on her mind for quite a while now.

Clare's late arrival in the training, the extreme similarity of Clare's Yoki to her's, and Clare's immense power and skill with the blade all bothered Teresa. She could sense that there was more to the situation than Clare let on. _Perhaps the similarity of our Yoki signatures is the cause of her interest in me. Or perhaps her interest in me caused her to develop a similar Yoki signature. _Teresa let out an annoyed sigh. She didn't have enough information, not even for speculation. She would need to question Clare soon and find out for sure.

Teresa folded her arms firmly in front of her as the wind blew. It was colder than she'd expected and her body reacted instinctively, sending a shiver through her. She stopped herself and let the coldness pierce through her without allowing her body to make any further complaints. She had no use for weakness of any kind, even instinctive weakness.

Teresa had been sold to the Organization for a bag of silver by those closest to her. She knew that the bonds between people, even the closest ones, could be broken on a whim and that the breaking of such bonds could be more painful than the breaking of bones or flesh.

If such bonds were truly so fickle and the breaking of them so painful, she did not understand their necessity. Her confusion as to their purpose was compounded by the fact that of all the attachments she had seen, she had not seen any which had strengthened those affected. She only saw people made foolish and weak.

And any action which diminished power was unacceptable to her. Teresa had learned at an early age, it was _power_ that mattered in the end... the power to do as one wished, to be free. Teresa wished to be free. Turned into a monster against her will, she'd been harshly taught the value of freedom.

In the end, the strong were allowed to do as they pleased and the weak could either obey or perish in spite of it. Strength was the means by which to achieve to freedom.

Teresa did not wish to obey and she did not wish to perish. She reflected on that as she let herself finally fall asleep.

xxxxxxxx

When morning arrived, a thick blanket of fog had settled over the camp and the forest. Clare could only see twenty feet in any direction. Trees, like shadows, stood, half-obscured by the hanging gray mist which engulfed them. Branches seemed to come from the mist as if from nothing.

Feeling a drop of water hit the back of her thigh, Clare reached over her shoulder and touched the Claymore sheathed on her back. She could feel the wet surface of her blade, with beads of perspiration on the handle.

_The moisture in the air is collecting on my blade and dripping onto my legs, _Clare realized.

Irene dutifully cleared the fire pit, burying the charred remains beneath fresh underbrush until it was possible to see that a fire had once been there.

Clare walked beside her, observing inquisitively. Noticing Clare's curiosity, Irene explained, "We're dealing with a warrior rebellion. It is prudent to hide our tracks."

It made sense, though it was still seemed a bit excessive to Clare. Still, not excessive enough to complain. Clare, of course, could command Irene to continue or to stop.

_I am in command, _Clare thought, standing in silence. _I hate command. _Clare had never been all that good at it, lacking the natural aptitude of Irene or Miria.

Irene and Clare hadn't said much after kissing the previous night, nor did she think that there was all that much really to say.

It felt nice to do it. She'd felt the fleeting rush of giddiness and the tingle of excitement, the comfort of another's lips and body. But it was a far leap from the wanton lust Clare had imagined from romance. And they hadn't done much other than kiss. It was a bond of attraction and mutual respect, but not of electricity.

_Irene and I are both too guarded. We were both hurt, and that closed us off. Even though we took comfort in the attraction we held for each other, we couldn't allow ourselves to give in to it. _It made sense to her. The very nature of being a Claymore was to have one's heart locked within. Clare had remembered just how long it had taken Teresa to open herself up. Teresa had struck her, threatened to kill her, and nearly left her to die to the elements before showing even the slightest hint of compassion.

_This is what happens to us. This is how we must cope with the harsh realities of being monsters. _

Clare also remembered when she kissed Raki. It was her first kiss. Raki was a really sweet kid and he was always very happy and optimistic. That was what Clare liked most about him. His happiness was almost infectious. The world seemed a little less dark when he had followed her. She smiled at the memory. Raki was cute. He was safe. With him, she hadn't felt any real sexual electricity either. It hadn't left her breathless. She trusted him and liked him, but she wasn't intensely attracted to him.

As Clare wondered if perhaps she was holding too high of a standard for kissing. _Maybe it's just not that good. It's not like I have kissed many people. _But, Clare remembered that the moment when Teresa finally opened up to her, that moonlit night, both Clare and Teresa had embraced. She could no even compare the kisses she'd had with Irene and Raki to that moment. Embracing Teresa was on an entirely different scale.

_Why did that happen with Teresa and not Irene? _Clare had felt the comfort, the embrace, but she hadn't felt that instant raw emotional bond, the power that left her dizzy. Clare's eyes remained empty as she pondered the discrepancy. She found her gaze shifting, looking for Teresa. Obscured by the mist, Teresa lay, still sleeping across the now-buried fire.

Clare walked over to her, to rouse her. But as she knelt down beside Teresa, her blond hair wet with dew and tangled against the bark of the tree she rested against, Clare saw movements beneath Teresa's closed eyes.

Teresa was dreaming. To Clare, it seemed like dreams were the theme of this reality, perhaps the theme of her life. Naturally, she wondered what Teresa was dreaming about.

Clare paused, curiosity compelling her to observe. The expression Teresa was making, her facial features seemed different than the cynical and cold Teresa she had seen during training. There was also wetness under her eyes, but Clare couldn't tell if it was from the tears or from the mist.

As Clare knelt, curiously watching Teresa sleep, she sensed Irene's gaze and looked up to see Irene was watching Clare and was glowering. Clare stared blankly at Irene. The two locked eyes for a moment before Irene turned away dismissively, crossing her arms. _She saw the way I looked at Teresa? _Clare wondered, eyes still fixed on Irene. _No... she must have noticed the way I looked at Teresa for quite some time. Is she jealous? Angry? _

And just that moment, Teresa's entire sleeping body went rigid. Every muscle from her toes to her cheeks strained in a single instant and she lurched up, eyes opening wide, and inhaling as if she had just come up from beneath the water.

Teresa panted, eyes wide and bleeding shock. She reached up and grabbed her neck and then looked down at her arms. She seemed relieved to see that they were still attached. Her panting calmed and she slowly raised her head. Confusion remained, but she had regained her clam.

"Awake?" Irene asked coldly, head bowed down in cold confidence.

Teresa ignored her, and slowly raised her gaze to Clare. It was a gaze of softness and wonderment, as if Teresa had finally realized something. It was the first time Clare had seen Teresa look at her with anything short of cold detachment.

But the look faded quickly. Teresa dismissed it, closing her eyes in bemused embarrassment. "Apologies ... I had an unusual dream."

But Clare had seen Teresa's eyes open for an instant, and she suddenly realized why. "You grabbed your neck when you woke. Why?" Clare asked.

Teresa shrugged. "It's irrelevant. It didn't happen," Teresa stated, pulling herself to her feet, running her hands through her ponytail, pulling all of the clinging bark from amidst the strands of her hair.

Still, Clare noticed that something seemed different in Teresa. She seemed unsure... shaken.

"In your dream, did a warrior named Priscilla cut off your head?" Clare asked.

As the name left Clare's lips, Teresa froze, eyes widening in surprise.

_She reacted. She must have dreamed of Priscilla. But how? Is her Yoki within my body somehow communicating with her? Is that even possible? _

Teresa pulled her Claymore from her sheath and had it pressed against Clare's throat in a single fluid motion. While Teresa had drawn her sword with amazing speed, Clare could have dodged it if she wanted. She felt the sharp tickle of the end of Teresa's Claymore pressed against her throat.

"Where did you hear that name?" Teresa commanded fiercely. "How do you know what I'm dreaming about? Explain!" Clare had only seen Teresa glare at another person in such a way once before. It was the instant before Teresa had violated her vows as a Claymore and killed her first human.

Teresa felt violated as well. The dream she had just woken from had shaken her with powerful emotions. In that simple dream, but it had challenged some of her most deeply-held beliefs. She had cried, shown weakness. _In that dream I was acting like a damned idealistic fool... taking care of some random little girl, betraying the organization, giving my life for her... And it felt so real..._ and for Clare to somehow inexplicably know about Teresa's dream made Teresa even more angry. _If Clare is affecting my dreams with her Yoki in order to somehow manipulate me... _Teresa thought, murderously.

"Put your sword away," Irene warned, grasping her own Claymore.

"You won't be able to draw in time," Teresa said with a cold smile, pressing the sword into Clare's neck. A trickle of red intermingled with the dew at the tip of Teresa's blade. Less than a pound of pressure could cut Clare's major veins or her windpipe. Clare still said nothing.

Clare heard the sound as a sword shattered the air. Irene's sword remained at her hilt, but a fissure of blood opened at Teresa's shoulder, indicating that Irene had swung. Teresa's sword and attached arm clattered to the ground, crimson blood spouting from Teresa's arm socket.

Teresa fell to her knees clenching her teeth in a quick flash of agony. "How..." Teresa muttered.

"A technique I've developed in secret," Irene muttered darkly, murderous intent clear as she continued to approach the prostrated Teresa. "It cannot be blocked. Not by one of your skill, Teresa-sama."

In Irene was an anger that was product of more than just protectiveness. It was that, in large part, but it was also resentment, jealousy, and hatred left beneath a cold exterior to stew for many months. Irene prepared her next strike, the killing blow that she knew Teresa deserved.

But as she used her ability against another for the second time, her blade was stopped just a foot from Teresa's neck. A screech, higher pitch than any Irene had ever heard, cut her ears as her blade was met with another blade of even greater speed. Sparks showered in the mist-filled air. Irene's blade remained stiff in the air. She inhaled sharply in surprise.

"Please... don't." Clare said, holding the sword that protected Teresa.

"Y-you blocked it? She was ready to kill you!" Irene stammered, half in shock and half in outrage.

Clare's expression remained as enigmatic as before.

Irene wouldn't let it go. She let out an angry yell and made another swing for Teresa. This one was slower, but far more powerful.

Clare didn't hesitate. She whipped Irene across the face with the breadth of her sword. Stung, Irene was flung back, crumpling the ground, her hair and cloak splayed upon her. She cradled her jaw as blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She glanced up at Clare with a mixture of emotional pain and anger. The physical pain was nothing in comparison.

_I didn't want to do that, Irene. _

Clare turned to Teresa with a sympathetic look. "Rejoin your arm," Clare said softly to Teresa.

Teresa, breathing raggedly, took her arm and placed it at her socket. Clare knelt beside her, placing her arm above the wound. Rising in cold anger, Irene stood up and briskly left, disappearing into the mist.

Teresa could feel the mending process rapid and nearly-painless as the flesh mended together once more.

"I won't be your pet," Teresa said darkly. "Just tell me what the hell is going on."

"If I need to explain it, then you are not prepared to hear it."

Her tone was stiff and emotionless, just a statement of fact. It was a fact that represented a wound in Clare deeper than any sword could inflict. The years it had burned within her, she had not feared pain or death. It was a wound she'd learned to live with, but the pain had never gone away, and never lessened in intensity. The pain of the love she held was the fire that kept her going, kept her fighting, always.

Clare's hand lingered on Teresa's shoulder, even after it was healed. Clare knew that deep down, she could never let Teresa get hurt again.

Teresa laughed derisively, swatting Clare's hand from her shoulder. "Your interest is just an annoyance to me. Just leave me alone."

Clare shook her head sharply. Clare knelt beside Teresa and wrapped her arms around her like she'd done as a little girl.

Teresa stiffened. "Hey...!"

"I still can see the pain and the loneliness in your eyes, just like before," Clare said, her eyes moistening. "I already had to watch Priscilla kill you. If you died again, I don't know if I could bear it." Clare began to sob against Teresa's shoulder, squeezing her tightly.

Teresa wanted to lash out or push Clare away, but instead, Teresa felt tears welling up in her own eyes as well. She tried to force them away, but it only seemed to make it worse. Teresa awkwardly brought her arms up as well, sharing the embrace.

"Clare... I..." was all Teresa managed to say, before pushing Clare away and rising to her feet. Teresa wiped the tears from her eyes. "Clare, none of this makes any sense."

"I'll tell you everything Teresa. Just... don't go."


	8. Chapter 8: Defensible

Winds of Nostalgia

**Chapter 8: **Defensible

_Author's Note: I've tried to grasp the characters of Claymore to the best of my ability. I have not decided a pairing... I don't think I could decide upon a pairing beforehand and still do my job as a storyteller. _

_I try, whenever possible, to let my characters make those decisions themselves. I know that is maddeningly vague, but it's just my style. It's the reason why I never list pairings in my descriptions. There's no real way of knowing what will happen until it happens. _

_For those who are interested, I found Steven King's "On Writing", a guide to writing fiction (and tips on starting a career in the creative writing field). It makes for an excellent and informative read, especially if you skip the autobiographical sections. I'd recommend it to those of you interested in writing, as I am. If you have difficulty finding the PDF, a simple google search of 'On Writing Steven King PDF' should do the trick. _

_Also, SPOILER ALERT (Manga), those of you who have following the Manga closely... while she wasn't one of the #1's that have made their debut in the most recent chapter-does anyone else crossing their fingers for the return of a certain someone? _

The wind whispered of the coming battle. It was an intangible scent, but familiar, intimate even, to those who recognized it.

Miria stood in the clearing in the middle of the town, gazing to the north. Initially, Sierra had sensed the large concentration of Yoki coming south, towards them. The horde had since moved close enough for Miria, and the other girls could sense it as well.

The Yoki signature headed their way was quite sizable, though not half the size of the Awakened force at Pieta.

Compared to Pieta, Miria had less than half of her combat power as well, twelve warriors, mostly lower-ranked, only one single-digit besides herself. Nevertheless, the girls were afraid. She did not blame them. When faced with Yoma, fear was inevitable. The professionals just got very good at hiding it.

Miria realized that there was a possibility of losing a few of her warriors in this battle, but the battle also represented an opportunity. In order to ravage the south, as she expected the Yoma horde had been conditioned to do by their handlers, they would need to pass through _this_ valley.

She had the opportunity to both completely wipe out the threat to the south, protecting the humans there, and also, a victory for her and her twelve rebels would unify them even more strongly under her leadership, turning them into a more cohesive fighting force. The victory could perhaps strengthen her army to just the degree that she needed it in order to finally destroy the Organization.

There were risks, but a commander knew when it was time to be bold.

The horde approached. She saw the black dots of Yoma, and the larger smudges of Awakened beings pouring over the hillside towards the town. Their advance was rapid, probably driven by the sight of a new town they could ravage, driven by their hunger.

_Seven awakened beings, eighty-three Yoma, _she counted. In all probability, the last of the Organization's pet Yoma. The Organization was running out of tricks.

Miria walked forward past the town's many empty, straw houses, emerging from the town's cobblestone center, to the soft brown dirt of the outlying farmhouses, and across the small wooden bridge which marked the Village's border, into the golden field beyond, where currents of wind rippled through the wheat which undulated like an ocean's waves.

There, she met the first charging Yoma. She cut them down one after another, spotting the golden stalks of wheat around her with purple blood as the charging Yoma tumbled, in pieces, to the ground. None offered any real challenge.

The army saw her, a lone Claymore, and surged towards her.

Hilda, along with the others, watched from afar. Miria was a lone silver figure silently dancing among the roars of the swarming monsters which surrounded her. The sheer momentum of the black swarm which pushed in on her seemed enough to move a mountain. Hilda watched fearfully. Soon, oceans of alien limbs and drooling mouths were whirling around Miria in an orchestra of hunger.

Miria cut through the enemy's attacks like a scythe through wheat. She was a small holdout of calm amidst the turmoil, and she brought the peace of death to all around her. Intertwined piles of chopped Yoma began to stack around her. Confusing them with false images of herself, Yoma often mistakenly attacked their own comrades. Her sword flashed in long elegant arcs, her Claymore not slowing as it passed through flesh, bone, and organ, streams of blood in its wake. As the volume of enemies that attacked her increased, she needed only increase the rhythm of her dance. Her eyes narrowed in grim concentration.

_Step Step Swing. _She felt a splatter of Yoma blood upon her face. She closed her eye at the last moment to avoid being blinded.

_Swing Swing Step _She cut an X in front of her. Quarters of Yoma splashed upon the ground.

_Swing, Thrust, Phantom! _She impaled an enemy, and seeing a Yoma tentacle shooting her way, she vanished in a high-pitched roar. The projectile shot through her afterimage, striking another Yoma in the gut.

_Step, Swing._

Miria knew she needed to signal her forces soon. If she fought too much longer, she'd kill all the enemies herself, depriving her new army of valuable experience. Miria had set the example she'd needed to as their commander. She gave the signal.

Hilda and the other eleven girls watched Miria rapidly moving among the enemy. It was an elegant and bloody display.

"Amazing."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes," Hilda said with a smile. "she is."

When Miria gave the signal, they leaped to their feet and set off in a run, many of them letting out a battle cry. Their silver armor glinting in the sun, they slammed into the unexpected flank of the enemy horde, slicing through rapidly. Hilda ducked a charging Yoma and impaled another through the midsection. Freeing her blade with a bloody yank, she saw a comrade who'd been knocked over by a charging Yoma. She ran amidst the bloody scene and freed the Yoma's head from it's body before yanking her comrade to her feet.

"Careful," she reminded breathlessly, patting the Claymore on the shoulder.

Her heart was hammering in her chest to the frantic rhythm of battle. All around her, Claymores and Yoma were moving in blurs. Hilda swung at the enemy as they came, dodged ranged attacks which flew past her. Hilda sensed an ominous burst of Yoki from behind and ducked, watching a set of claws whistle where her head had been. She swung at the claws and saw the satisfying spray of purple, but to her surprise, the enemy hardly seemed to notice.

She looked up at the Awakened being she'd cut.

It let out an angry roar. The pitch was sharp, and it hurt her ears. They started to ring.

_Big, _was the only thought she had time to think before she had to dodge.

She leaped away, rolling through the soft wheat. Behind her, the ground shook as the Awakened being slammed where she'd just been standing. Dirt sprayed in all directions. The awakened being let out a frustrated roar and swung again. A Yoma in the way of his attack seemed to disintegrate.

Hilda's eyes widened, she'd barely risen back to her feet and already a motion blur of sharp steely claws was upon her.

For a moment, it was if time stood still. All should could see was the deadly blades carving towards her. She held her breath.

Then, like a sharp gust of wind, the world blurred around her, and she was gone. She felt two arms around her waist, and a warm body behind her.

"Don't be reckless," Miria said, speaking softly into her ear.

Miria let her free and with a flash, she had vanished again. Hilda took a moment to compose herself, breathing in deep gulps until she stopped shaking. Her comrades cut through the Yoma horde. Miria was within them, among them, around them, flashing in and out like the sun's sparkle upon the waves. She thinned the enemy's numbers, guiding her forces to victory.

She watched over them all. That was the burden of command.

Following her lead, Hilda charged into the fray.

When the last Awakened Being collapsed under the assault of Miria's army, the field had become a butcher's den, littered with gore and pools of blood, which was already draining towards the stream on the edge of the town. The stream, unmoved by the slaughter, continued to babble happily among the rocks.

They were exhausted. Huffing, Lucy, turned to Miria and raised her sword in salute. The other girls did the same, until eleven swords paid respect together. The gesture was a high honor among the Claymores.

Miria remained stone-faced. "Casualties?" Miria asked, approaching the smiling group. The group lowered their weapons and checked their numbers.

"Tria is down!" one of the girls exclaimed. A few Claymores rushed to her, helping her up out from amidst the corpses. Tria was breathing haggardly, one of her legs was missing. Miria's eyes locked on the wounded girl. Her eyes appeared detached and emotionless, but Hilda could see the guilt Miria held there.

Hilda's heart went out to Miria's pain, but there was more pressing pain that she needed to help with. "Where's your leg, Tria?" Hilda asked, kneeling beside her. Tria also had a wide gash on her stomach which was still bleeding.

"G-gone-" Tria said, breathing haggardly, tears forming in her eyes. She squirmed in the golden strands which embraced her broken body, drops of blood on her milky-white face. Her comrades gazed down upon her with grim expressions. Hilda knew that she was an offensive-type warrior. Everyone knew. There was a grim silence as Tria let out a low moan of pain and despair. _She might never grow that leg back, _Miria thought, clenching her jaw as she forced herself. _I should have been keeping a closer eye on her, she was only ranked in the thirties. _

"We've saved the people of this village, and countless others," Miria stated, hiding her regret. "We can be proud of this. Help Tria into the village. We can rest here until she is fit to move."

_Until she is fit to move, _Miria reflected. If they waited too long, they would surrender the initiative to the Organization and face a possible counterattack on the same ground and another comrade might be cut down. _We might need to leave her. _Miria grimaced angrily, but turned to hide it, setting off to the town._ I can't let the girls see me with even the smallest regret. It would undermine their confidence in me._ The other Claymores followed quietly behind her in silence. As they approached, villagers rushed out leaping in the air, cheering, and shouting, but the shouts quieted when they were faced with the cold expressions of the Claymores.

Tria, who wept, was carried on the shoulders of two Claymores who knew her better than the others.

An aging man approached Miria with a small bag filled with gold. "We saw you from the tower. You were amazing! Please..." he said, offering the money to Miria. "Please. Take it."

Miria glanced at the bag of money and felt the vast emptiness and insulting meaninglessness of the gesture. "We have no use for it. Use this money to buy some seed from one of the southern cities. We damaged your wheat field."

"I never..." the old man said in wonderment. His voice was quite high pitch for an old man, it sounded like a kind and patient voice. "I never seen someone do such a kindness for another perso-" he stopped himself. "I mean... you know."

"I know." Miria inhaled softly. "One of our people is badly injured. If you could spare it, we need a place for her to rest."

The old man considered. Grateful as he was, Claymores put him at ease, but he could find no reason to deny her. He nodded his assent.

"The windmill next to the stream will be empty. Tell us if we can help her in any way," he said, glancing to the wounded Claymore. "The _Claymore_ there, she lost a foot? Will it grow back?"

"_Tria_ lost her leg and... no, it probably won't." Miria said with a glare. The old man was about to start speaking again, but Miria turned around before he had the chance. She had no desire to hear any more of his words. He didn't understand. He watched in silence as Miria helped her warriors in carrying Tria to the building that the old man had motioned to. Arms lifted, each shared a portion of the burden.

They moved together, pushing a few tightly-wrapped bales of wheat aside so they could set her down.

Tria passed out after a few minutes of heavy, gulped breathing and panting. Miria spent a few minutes gazing at her as she stood beside the door. Even without consciousness, her expression was pained. Every moment of pain just reminded Miria of her failure.

Miria closed her eyes and pushed the door ajar, walking outside. She let her feet guide her to the fields far south of the town. She walked slowly. Moving quickly, she could return to the town in just a handful of seconds.

The windswept land stretched out in all directions. Thick forest loomed in front of her-lazy fields and the town were behind her. She gazed between the many tall trees, their trunks like so many prison bars. There was a certain soothing effect to being alone, with only nature to gaze upon her, gentle and unassuming.

"Commander," Hilda said softly, walking to her side.

Miria glanced to Hilda. "I don't like to lead," Miria said coldly, glancing to the trees. No one ever seemed to notice that point. Miria supposed that she hid it too well for them to notice. It was harder to hide things from Hilda.

"You're a very good commander, Miria."

"Not as good as I need to be."

"You saved us."

Miria grimaced. "I endangered you all and a girl lost her leg fighting a battle I should have handled myself."

"Tria knew what she was signing up for. We all did." Hilda said, frustrated that Miria wouldn't look at her. "You saved my _life_. Does that mean so little to you?"

Miria looked at her in annoyance. "It means something to me, but I have a responsibility for everyone on the field-not just you."

"You don't have to carry the burden alone." Hilda smiled gently. "I'm here for you."

Miria shook her head. "I don't need your help. Tria does," Miria said stiffly, looking away.

Frustration flashed over Hilda's features, but she let it pass. "All right," Hilda replied before walking back to the town.

Miria sighed heavily, looking back out into the woods. She wondered what it would be like if she didn't have to be so strong all the time-If perhaps she could let her walls down just long enough to smile, laugh, embrace Hilda and kiss her. It was a pleasant, yet unrealistic thought.

Day had not yet fallen when Miria returned. A gray tint had settled over the town. The sun had passed from the sky, but enough lingering light remained to see. Entering the mill where the Claymores were gathered, Miria walked over to Tria to find her conscious. Miria walked to her side, while most of the Claymores watched.

"The worst has passed?" Miria asked.

Tria nodded sluggishly. "I'll be fine, Commander," she rasped. Miria reached, grasping Tria's hand, giving it a strong squeeze.

"You fought well." _And I'm sorry. _

"I can lend Tria a leg. I'll regenerate one in under a day," Sierra proposed. Many Claymores smiled at the idea. It was a simple solution. Tria wouldn't need to live another day as a cripple.

"It's unfortunate, but we can't spare the delay," Miria said.

There were a few murmurs, but no open dissent. Still, Miria could sense that most did not agree. "When we liberate the training facility, the first order I will give is to send you back here, Sierra," Miria promised. "From there, the Organization's defeat will be certain."

Miria gave Tria a pouch of Yoki suppressants that she'd stolen in their raid of the southern Yoma-production facility. If she took them, she'd be invisible to any of the Organization's scouts.

The girls took what precious little sleep they could afford. They were accustomed to low amounts of sleep, so they all woke up before dawn without problem. The dim light had just started to glow when Miria set out at the lead of her column.

They had nearly reached the bridge at the north of the town, when Miria heard the patter of a man running behind them. The steps were sluggish and clumsy, distinctly human. She turned to see the village elder rushing out towards them. Miria halted the column. _Come out to annoy me some more, I suppose? _she thought.

"Sir?" she asked.

"I'd have seen you off, but we just delivered a baby."

"I see," Miria said, half-turning to leave.

"We named the newborn girl Tria," he said with a smile. "We will keep your comrade safe. And we won't forget you-any of you."

Miria smiled with pleasant surprise. "I underestimated you, sir." Miria bowed her head in a brief show of respect. The elder returned it.

Miria returned to her road, her steps considerably more light than they'd been.

"Beautiful country, isn't it commander?" Hilda asked.

"Too beautiful."


	9. Chapter 9: Cracked

Winds of Nostalgia

**Chapter 9**: Cracked

_**Irene**_

Two sentinels spotted the road ahead. They faced towards her, their distant silhouettes faceless and black in the eye of the sun.

_Rosemary: number one. Aquilia: number two. _

Irene held her head high and walked with poise towards them. It was a poise she'd seen in some of the older warriors when she was a soft-eyed child. It was a poise that, until recently, she had failed to grasp. Recently, however, she'd learned to wear it more skillfully, striving onwards towards the ideal of strength she wished for so urgently.

Clare grasped it naturally, like some of the other girls-almost as if they'd been doing it their whole lives. Irene had envied the ease with which they had grasped something that had eluded her for so long. It seemed unfair. Although Irene couldn't be sure, she always thought that she'd wanted the strength more than any one else.

But Clare was different. Clare had honor. Clare treated her as an equal, a comrade. It had been with Clare's help that Irene finally began to grasp her own power.

And that closeness, that trust had evolved to something else altogether. The transition had gone quickly, and was already too far along before Irene could put a stop to it. Irene had gone from being able to tolerate Clare more than the other warriors, to enjoying the time she spent with her, to aching in the time spent away from her. It was strange, giddy, oddly addictive, but mostly scary and disorienting.

Behind her cold facade, she felt a building power in her heart which threatened to drive her mad. This level of feeling was alien to her. Irene felt like she had been holding herself back even when she'd finally expressed her affections. She hadn't known how Clare would react-she had no way of knowing. When Clare had kissed her, she'd felt a moment of pure joy, but she did not let the flood-gates open. She held herself back. She was not yet the warrior, nor the woman, she'd always wished to be. In one respect, she felt like she did not deserve to love; In another, she knew she wasn't ready.

That mistrust proved to be accurate. Irene felt a bitter anger wash through her as she recalled the previous night. _It was good that I set off ahead of them. They probably quickly took advantage of the time alone, _Irene thought in a jealous flash.

That night after Clare had struck her, Irene walked briskly away, holding herself with composure for as many steps as she could muster before the unfairness and the pain overwhelmed her and her emotions finally came pouring out. The brittle illusion tumbled. She'd cried shamefully away from prying eyes.

In that moment, she wasn't the warrior she'd dreamed of becoming, she was just another wounded little girl. When she was finished, she wiped her face clean, and she'd set off upon the road with grim resolve. _I can't let something like this happen again. _

She'd been stubborn. As Irene had agonized on the Organization's operating table, she grit her teeth and refused to let herself make a noise. She'd heard the girls before her in line screaming-hollering even. Even at that time, she'd known the type of warrior she wanted to become. Warriors like Clare and Teresa took it for granted, but Irene vowed never to do so; she would never stop perfecting her skills and she would become the warrior that she needed to be.

Her innocence had been stolen in a single bloody day, but she could still shape a small part of her future. She was not one to be thrown around her life by the wills of fate.

Lost in her thoughts, Irene had made the distance between her and Rosemary. Only a few yards separated them when Irene stopped and eyed her comrade.

"So a trainee arrives," Rosemary stated.

Irene had seen Rosemary once before, years ago.

She hadn't changed much. Her short hair still hung down in spiky strands. Her eyes still carried a certain sternness. Rosemary evaluated Irene with a blank, calculating expression, like someone might look at an inanimate object.

"Where are your two little friends?" Aquilia chided. The number two wore a derisive expression and had her long, platinum blond hair swept back.

Rosemary glared at the number two. "Be nice to our comrade, Aquilia," Rosemary said with a dark smile.

Aquilia cringed. "Of course, Rosemary, I'm sorry."

Irene glanced awkwardly between the two.

"I'm sorry about Aquilia. It's been too long since she's been shown her place."

Aquilia averted her eyes at the mention of this. They spoke of pain and humiliation.

Satisfied, Rosemary turned to Irene. "Tell me your name."

Irene could only think one thought: _That is not how a warrior should treat her comrade. _

"Are you slow? I asked your name," Rosemary pressed.

"Irene."

"I am Rosemary, the Number _one_," Rosemary said, narrowing her eyes.

"A pleasure, comrade."

"_Comrade_?" Rosemary asked with a half smile. She glanced over to Aquilia, who laughed nervously. "You call yourself a comrade with that pathetic Yoki?"

Aquilia began to laugh with more confidence. She took a half step closer to Rosemary, consolidating her allegiance.

Irene's eyes went distant. She was accustomed to ignoring the words of fools.

"Do you understand my words, stupid?" Rosemary asked, lowering her head slowly and staring into Irene's face.

"Yes."

"She's very eloquent," Aquilia chided, eyes checking Rosemary for approval.

Rosemary bore a cold stare directly into Irene's eyes. Irene returned it. The silence of the stare went on for almost ten seconds. Rosemary finally grinned, giving Irene's scalp a rough tussle, scrambling some of Irene's long silver hair across her face. "I'm just having fun with you, rookie. _Cheer_ up." her statement read as more of a command than a reassurance.

Irene's scalp burned where Rosemary had yanked it. She held her anger inside. _I am not a slave to my passions. _

"A lesser warrior might be insulted to be ordered to avoid all combat so we could be reinforced by _trainees_," Rosemary said with thinly veiled displeasure.

"So where are the other two?" Aquilia asked.

"They were delayed. They should be along shortly," Irene explained. She had no intention of revealing that she'd left the camp in tears the previous night-not to these two.

"Would you object to a small sparring match until they arrive?" Rosemary asked with a wry smile.

"I would not."

In truth, Irene wanted nothing more than to fight this woman.

The two girls drew and both spent a few moments examining the other.

Irene swung first. Rosemary blocked skillfully, and the two swords were soon clashing and grinding a sharp rhythm into the noon air. Irene's technique, although vastly improved, struggled to keep up with Rosemary's stronger and faster swings and was soon panting. While Irene was still recovering her guard from a low block, Rosemary swung for Irene's neck.

Irene ducked quick and low, bracing her low posture with a single hand on the ground as Rosemary's sword passed overhead. The proximity of the swing to the top of Irene's head put an unsettling sensation in Irene's gut. She stumbled backwards, eyes wide. A few strands of Irene's hair, severed by the swing, drifted lazily between the two warriors.

Rosemary smiled and pressed the attack. Irene was alarmed to find Rosemary's speed was gradually increasing, which was only possible if she had been holding back-toying with her.

_I can't beat her with conventional swordplay, but I also can't control the direction of my flash-sword yet. if I try it, I could kill her. _A dark temptation to use the technique regardless urged her in flashes, but Irene knew that the risks were too great for her to do it for her own emotional satisfaction.

Inevitably, Rosemary's tempo surpassed Irene's ability to match it. Irene, knocked back by a hard overhand, couldn't bring her sword to a blocking position quickly enough. Pain like Irene had never felt ripped deep through her shoulder as she felt hot blood seeping out of it. Her sword fell limply from her hands as she collapsed, powerless to the agony of the cut through her shoulder.

She was defeated again-humiliated again. Irene gazed up at Rosemary defiantly, trembling in pain.

"What's going on?" Clare demanded, voice dark with anger. Irene glanced up to see Teresa and Clare had arrived, flanking her protectively on either side.

"I was assessing her combat potential," Rosemary said with a shrug.

Clare stepped protectively between Rosemary and Irene, glaring at Rosemary directly. After a few moments of glaring, she offered Irene her hand. "I'm sorry, Irene. For everything," Clare said.

It was a brief apology considering all that had happened. Irene hesitated, resentment and embarrassment both urging her to refuse Clare's gesture, but those petty emotions didn't seem to matter when she was faced with Clare's compassionate eyes. She took Clare's hand, and let her friend pull her up. _Clare weakens my convictions. _

She shuddered in pain. The cut in her shoulder was deep. Clare shot another glare to Rosemary before putting her hand on Irene's shoulder. "Irene . . ."

Irene grimaced. "I'm fine, Clare."

Clare smiled. Irene almost felt her pain melt away. Clare had that power. Irene reached to recover her blade with her undamaged arm.

Rosemary wore her annoyance openly. "Enough games. We have to move." Clare felt an immediate and intense dislike for Rosemary, but decided that she would not act upon it-at least not yet. _It will resolve itself in time. _

Clare exchanged a knowing look with Teresa. Both of them knew what needed to be done. Now, all that remained, was for Clare to tell Irene as well. Clare needed to get her alone, away from Rosemary and her lackey.

_**Miria**_

Miria led her column of rugged revolutionaries up the mountain path. They carried with them a grim determination to see destruction upon those who had destroyed their childhoods, their homes, and their dreams.

They carried the desire to destroy the Organization. Each of them had been convinced individually that this cause was just. Some had witnessed the evil of the Organization directly. Others, had witnessed it through the eyes of others, through the words of those who told of the Yoma-producing facilities they'd found the Organization operating.

Some argued on behalf of the organization only to be overwhelmed with realization and join the rebels anyway. There were twelve of them now. Thirteen-if Miria counted Olivera-but she was on a longer mission now. She would not be able to render assistance anytime soon.

Before them, the winding road stretched outward like an inviting hand, beckoning them towards the Organization-to battle. It ran smoothly and unobstructed.

Well, not entirely unobstructed. Miria saw a small figure on the side of the road. It could have been a peasant's thatched bag, or some loose canvas, but the brown figure turned towards the Claymores and Miria saw a face. _A child. _

Instinctive maternal concern tempered by the hardness of Miria's heart nevertheless pushed it's way up through her. As Miria approached, at the lead of her group, the child watched their approach, wide-eyed. Miria could now see that the child was surrounded by two corpses, an older man and an older woman.

Miria made her way to the child and knelt down while the other Claymores watched. The child stared back at her.

"What is your name?" Miria asked simply.

"Kelsey."

"What happened here, Kelsey?"

Tears glistened in the girl's eyes as Miria's question dragged her back to the grim reality. "They killed my parents."

"Who did?"

"Men. Bad men."

Miria sighed in disappointment. There would be no justice for this girl-at least not at their hands. While she no longer feared the Organization's revenge, she still instinctively considered humans to be off-limits for her sword. _Well, most humans. There are a few human lives that I know I must take once I get to the Organization. _

"Did the bad men do anything to you," Miria asked fearfully glancing down at the little girl's lower body.

"No. Just told me to shut up."

Miria let out a sigh of relief.

Miria could see that Kelsey was weak already. She had no food or water. If left, she would die out here.

Miria took the little girl into her arms, holding her frail little body. She was wasting away.

"We'll get you somewhere safe," Miria promised.

"Your hug doesn't feel right."

Miria loosened her hold on the little girl, releasing her, looking inquisitively to the little girl.

"It feels cold and hard, like a rock," the child went on to explain.

Miria rose from her kneeling position and turned to Hilda, who stood directly behind her. "Hilda. . . ."

Hilda nodded and walked past Miria, smiling at the little girl. "Hey Kelsey. My name is Hilda. You look hungry. Why don't we get you something to eat?" Hilda spoke with a certain animated quality that felt foreign to Miria. _Is that what it means to be warm? _Miria wondered. It was a lesson she'd learned decades ago, in an innocent life all but driven from her psyche, a dusty old mannerism, pushed aside with all the other useless things.

They began walking again. This time, Hilda carried the small child upon her shoulders, and spoke with her. The little girl was very warm and cheerful, almost as if she blocked out the terrible loss of her parents, and helped to melt the icy dispositions of some of the other warriors as well, who also began to speak with the child. Miria assumed that Claymores, most of them orphans, could empathize directly with her.

Other warriors ignored the child, as they had developed a certain hatred for all things weak and innocent over the many hard years of their lives.

Eventually, they found a river with fresh water. It was not food, but it would probably help with the child's cracked, dehydrated lips. Miria led the group there, and motioned for Hilda to get the small girl a drink. Hilda obliged, setting the child down beside the bank.

A sudden brightness flickered in Kelsey's eyes. "I always heard that Claymores were bad," she said. "But you aren't. Claymores are strong. I want to be a Claymore."

Miria's heart immediately objected. _No. _

Miria glanced around, but no one else said a word. Still, their light expressions were replaced with solemn ones.

"What's wrong?" Kelsey asked.

Miria knelt beside her. Once more, the child regarded Miria suspiciously. Miria, after all, was the cold one, who couldn't hug properly.

"Becoming a Claymore took my warmth away," Miria said in an unhardened voice she'd thought she'd never speak with again. "If you follow through on your desire to become a Claymore, you will lose your warmth too."

Kelsey's suspicion melted as she eyed Miria with more of a wonderment.

"Do you understand what I mean?" Miria asked softly.

The little girl nodded. _She has no clue, does she? _

Miria turned away from the child and smiled bitterly. The girl was too young in any case. Even if the Organization did take her, they'd hold off on implanting her until she was in her mid-teens at the very latest. And by then, Miria intended to see the Organization, in all it's forms, in ashes.

_Did becoming a Claymore take my warmth away? _Miria wondered, looking to Hilda as she cupped a handful of glassy water from the brook for Kelsey, smile on her face. _No-I took my own warmth away. When Hilda died. I took my warmth away to become stronger. _

That was the tragic irony of the whole thing, really.

_**Clare**_

After the long, tiring march, the group came to a halt in the middle of a thick grove. While it had no other trails to mark the way other than winding deer-trials, it was the quickest way to their destination. Rosemary commanded the trainees to clear the brush and then, in the space, to make a fire. They worked in silence, using their strength to yank bushes from the ground, ignoring the many thorns which cut their skin.

The pain was nothing compared to pain they'd already faced.

Rosemary watched with a cold appreciation of the power she commanded over these young girls. By the cold orders she gave, there was soon a fire crackling in the night.

Irene and Clare had been mostly laconic through the day and had not communicated much, even with their eyes. But as the day came to a close, Irene looked at Clare for the first time as she rose to her feet, grasping her weapon.

It was a signal. It said _Let's talk. _

Clare got up and followed her into the wild tangle of trees and shrubs until the glow of the fire was nearly invisible and they were alone, standing face to face in the wild. Clare saw Irene was possessed with an intense seriousness. It was raw determination, passion. It made Clare's pulse run just a little faster. Clare couldn't deny that Irene wore her armor well.

When they came to a stop, there was a moment of silence where the two girls regarded one another. Neither Clare or Irene was particularly chatty. They were used to other people starting conversations for them.

Inevitably, Clare broke the silence. "I didn't mean to hurt you Irene."

Irene looked away, breathing deeply and slowly. Clare's apology had stung her. _She probably hates the idea of her pain being apologized for, _Clare realized.

"Can I tell you a story?" Irene asked.

Clare nodded.

"There was a small town called Yusa in the west. Yoma activity was getting worse, but the Organization did not pay any mind. Yusa was patrolled by a number forty-five warrior, _Lisa_, even though a stronger warrior was needed." Irene's eyes narrowed with derision as she spoke the name.

"People in Yusa began to disappear, handfuls at a time. The town did the impossible, and got the large sum of money that the Organization needed to hunt Yoma. Prudently, the town figured there were at least three Yoma. So they borrowed and sold their belongings until they had enough for the Organization's fee."

Clare watched Irene as she talked. The silver-haired girl struggled as she talked, as if dragging the memories from her mind was an act of conscious masochism. Still, she was driven onwards.

"the warrior arrived-a few days later. She killed two of the Yoma, but the third managed to disarm her. quite literally. The fight was close. The Yoma decided it would be amusing to leave the Claymore alive, so he stapled her to a post in the center of town with a dozen nails and hunted the rest of the humans. A young girl was among them."

Irene's eyes narrowed to an intense gleam, words dripping with bitterness. "She lost her parents in a few days, but the Yoma saved her for later. It seemed miraculous-but upon examination now, I knew it to be miraculously slow-Lisa freed herself from her position, found a sword, and finished the Yoma. She'd been imprisoned for three days."

"When Lisa was finished, she turned from the town, without a word-without so much as a single deed of recompense. The one thing she did was inform her handler of three new orphan girls ripe for recruitment. They were taken. They didn't object-they didn't have much grounds to. Of those three girls, one survived implantation."

"This girl understood the small magnitude of power by which Lisa had failed all those people-failed her duty. This girl vowed not to ever be short of her duty by any magnitude, but she couldn't quite find out how to become strong." Irene eyed Clare with bitterness mixed with the deepest vulnerability.

"I think it is interesting to consider just exactly what type of person such a set of experiences might make, and what ideals such a person would be driven by."

"I'm sorry, Irene," Clare heard herself say.

"Don't read into it." Irene's stiffness returned. She'd put her memories up into the air for Clare to see, but she did not wish to claim ownership of them.

Clare stepped forward. Irene fearfully fumbled with her own stiffness, trying to make herself broadcast the independence which she did not possess, but she could not erase the longing gaze in her eyes, as the image of Clare filled them.

Clare embraced her. Irene slowly melted into her arms, the torrent of her desire could not be restrained no matter how much she wished it were. She found herself grasping Clare's shoulders and her waist, pulling her close, in a brief illusion of unity.

"Let me tell you a story too," Clare whispered.

"I've been wanting to hear it, Clare." Irene pulled away and gazed at Clare with a patient and expectant look.

And Clare told her story. It took Clare longer to relay hers than Irene's, which was predictable, considering the strangeness of the thing, but when it was over, it felt right.

"I see," Irene finally said.

Clare nodded.

Irene fidgeted uncomfortably, looking up to Clare with a twinge of fear. "We won't ever be able to fix each other," she said in a moment of grim realization.

Clare smiled sadly, tracing Irene's jawline with her finger. "These things only exist as an expression of happiness. They don't fix anything. In the end, we need to fix ourselves."

The truth of the statement struck Irene with the force of a hammer, but from that strike bled hope.


	10. Chapter 10: Bliss

The Winds of Nostalgia

**Chapter 10**: Bliss

_**Irene**_

Two warriors lay upon the crisp forest leaves, two souls fractured by cruel circumstance, gazing into the eyes of the other. Their gaze was filled with curiosity, appreciation, happiness-but it was more than simple aesthetic appreciation.

The shared gaze entangled their spirits and burning feelings.

Both were slow to accept these feelings of bliss. Irene felt a fear, building in her gut, demanding she look away-break her gaze.

Self preservation told her: _Connection with another leads to pain and weakness_.

All of Irene's collective experience echoed this idea, but she compelled herself to be brave-to be strong. Lodged within the deepest protected recesses of her instinctual mind, she knew what it was to be happy.

As she looked into Clare's eyes, she smiled weakly. _Is this feeling weakness or strength? _Irene didn't know.

Clare smiled back, running a hand through Irene's hair.

Irene pulled her head back, granting access to the rest of her long, silver hair to Clare's probing fingers. _I don't care. . . ._

Irene closed her eyes in wanton vulnerability, her lips needing to feel Clare's. She guided them to hers and an inexplicable energy washed through her, a secure warmth pulsing inside her. If she could hold the feeling for eternity, she would freeze time, and doom the rest of the world to stagnancy. But, she needed to break the kiss eventually.

Life without stops between moments of bliss was like a lute player who strummed all notes at the same time, with no rhythm or separation. Without the pauses, life would be chaos-Beautiful, enrapturing chaos.

But her fear built. She gazed at Clare. _Don't hurt me. _

Clare pulled her head close, burying it against Irene's chest as she held Irene with a tight embrace. The touch of Clare's warm body pressed reassuringly against hers washed Irene's fear away with a flood of irrational bliss.

_It will be all right. _Were the words she felt Clare convey.

Irene clutched Clare's head strongly against her chest. Clare submitted completely as Irene's hand wandered down her back, urging her body tightly against her own, holding Clare protectively as Irene gazed on her relaxed face.

"Your pauldron," Irene said. "It's digging into my ribs."

Clare repositioned herself, angling her broad shoulder-guard from Irene's gut. She wiggled to find a position to relax into. "You look funny when you wiggle around," Irene said. It sounded cold. Irene's voice often did, but Clare knew Irene well enough to hear the slightest ring of humor within.

Clare hit her playfully-just a tap.

Irene pinned her hand against the ground forcefully and kissed her again.

As their lips reluctantly separated, Irene gazed in wonderment on this beautiful, golden-haired creature which lay in her lap. She didn't understand just what made all this so nice, but she didn't question it further, for fear that her question might be like chasing a shadow with a lantern. Perhaps pursuit of the answer would only drive it further away.

_Since that day, I've felt a need to be strong, _Irene considered. _But that was a need borne out of fear and duty, not out of happiness. _Of the two emotional needs, Irene favored needs borne of happiness, fleeting as they were. Though, she reasoned, it would be prudent for a Claymore to have an equal measure of both.

Happy things could be taken away. Strengths borne of fears and grim duty remained even in the worst of times.

Irene's gaze showed that fear as she examined Clare. Coupled with the bliss of the moment was a fear of the impermanence of this moment-this feeling. _Life certainly isn't fair. _

Still, she thought she'd earned at least a small measure of happiness. It was a complacent thought. She sighed, feeling her determination begin to dull. But if that determination got in the way of her enjoying this moment, then what good did it provide anyhow? What was the meaning of life if not this?

"Do you love Teresa?" Irene asked, her question sliding from the recesses of her fearful mind.

"Yes."

Irene's heart lurched.

"More than me?"

Clare nodded.

Irene bristled against Clare's embrace, feeling a wash of disbelief and anger. Clare regarded Irene's reaction calmly, and explained: "Did you love your parents? Your savior? Your hero? Your friend?" Clare asked.

"I don't understand."

"She was all of those to me." Clare nuzzled her body against Irene's. "Not a lover. Not like us."

Irene relaxed.

_**Teresa**_

_So Clare's crazy, _Teresa thought.

She would be smug if the truth of the matter wasn't so damn sad. Part of her had suspected it, but she'd been surprised when she discovered just how intense and elaborate Clare's crazy tale was. Teresa was weakened and confused by her dream, but not weakened and confused nearly enough to believe Clare's outlandish story. Teresa felt glad that she'd regained control of her emotions in time to make a logical decision.

_Likely the same means of Yoki mind control that she attempted to use on me were used on her, to implant her with the very same fake memories, _Teresa reasoned. _She seems like an emotional person. She was probably weaker to it's affects. She could not resist it. Victim or no, she is a threat._

There was no way that the memories could be real. They didn't make any sense. Most of the details were, in of themselves, a vast discontinuity. But even more oddly, what could have sent Clare here? What creature could defy time and space?

But, all other pieces were insignificant compared to the great flaw in Clare's story, which was a simple, one-worded question: "_Why". _There was no coherent line of reasoning which could answer that one gaping hole.

Subversion was a far more likely story. _Subversion serves a purpose._ _The Organization has many enemies. Clare is being used as a pawn by one of those enemies. She is beyond saving. _

_And transportation from a different world? A different time-line? Who would possibly stand to benefit from that? What an imbecilic story. _

As the realization of Clare's insanity hit her, Teresa had hid her contempt as well as she could. She'd feared that Clare might notice, but Clare was too busy crying and telling her story. _Irrational emotion makes us weak and blind. _

Teresa looked into the darkness, and saw a pair of silver eyes, to the north of camp and with a completely hidden Yoki as was customary. _She's arrived-just as she promised. _Teresa had been carefully watching the north since dark had fallen, expecting this visitor's arrival.

Teresa pulled herself to her feet. "I've got to relieve myself," she said, grinning coldly to hide the lie. Rosemary glared at her darkly, waving a permissive hand.

"Have funnnn," Aquilia mocked.

_Bitches, both of them. _Teresa thought. _I'm going to enjoy bumping them both down a rank when I've graduated. _She'd enjoy knocking Rosemary down in rank especially. She'd demonstrated clear sadism over the last few days, which only served to demonstrate how weak and insecure she was within.

_I wonder how she would handle the demotion. Not well, I imagine. _

Teresa walked towards where she'd seen the brief moment of the hovering, silver eyes, ducking through a tangle of vines, and stepping between thick trees, looking for her furtive contact.

It was her human senses, not her Yoki-sensing ones that told to her that her contact was nearby.

Despite being far outside earshot of the camp-fire, the contact had not yet revealed herself. Teresa glanced around, but couldn't see her. _Come out, you crazy bitch._ She folded her arms and sighed in annoyance. "Don't you think we're far enough from camp?" Teresa asked impatiently.

The hidden warrior stepped from behind a tree, a single, eye regarding her with an unnerving indifference. "This location is suitable. Further in would be ideal," Rafaela said. As always, Rafaela's one eye burned with anger, though it was never directed towards Teresa, which served as a comfort.

"I have a report," Teresa said.

Rafaela said nothing as she waited for Teresa to continue. _This girl really is some kind of freak, isn't she? _Teresa thought.

"Orsay's suspicions about Clare were accurate. She's a plant and she's inciting rebellion. Irene doesn't seem to have any knowledge, but I think that is soon to change. Irene's been-" Teresa considered her words carefully before speaking. She knew that her words here could possibly sentence a warrior to death. After preforming a mental double-check, she felt it was accurate enough. "-Compromised."

"Your orders remain the same," Rafaela stated. "Keep an eye on your comrades. If any go actively rogue, terminate them. I will be shadowing you, and when the rebellion's leader reveals herself, I will destroy her. Use your best judgment."

"Got it." Teresa did not like being given orders, especially not these orders. They sat as uncomfortably upon her as her stiff, unwieldy armor. Still, she did not plan on removing her armor. Likewise, she did not plan on disobeying her orders.

"Dae insisted that you try to take Clare alive. He would like to make use of her as a test subject."

Teresa imagined what that entailed and her stomach immediately went numb. She nodded coldly, and took her leave of the clandestine meeting.

She returned to the camp, sitting back down beside the fire. She stared into the flames, feeling the rocky uncomfortable ground beneath her, uncertain thoughts swimming behind the logical certainties upon which she'd built her decision.

Night fell. Irene and Clare returned from their midnight tryst. All fell asleep except for Teresa, whose mind was too troubled.

Morning eventually came, the pale light splashing down upon the sleeping warriors was enough to rouse them.

The day's walk had been shorter than the previous ones the five warriors had taken, but still lasted many hours.

Teresa was glad, at least, to no longer feel a soreness in her feet. Thanks to grotesque alien flesh subsisting within her body, she had adapted-become stronger. It was a symbiotic existence that was sickening in many ways, but inescapably necessary for anti-Yoma warriors.

_Meet violent with violence, monsters with monstrousness, treachery with treacherousness. _

The last part of her thought, a justification for her betrayal of Clare, felt wrong, for some reason. _I do not move based upon feelings, but upon logic. That is what makes me stronger than Clare, _Teresa thought.

_Those who rebel from the Organization will never know peace. _

_It is the Organization that keeps the Yoma in check. _

Her logic remained sound, but she didn't like it.

She wasn't required to like it.

Their hike took them up over a large mountain range. The sun shone brilliantly off the snow as they clambered to the top, the land beyond spilling out beyond them. The other side of the mountains appeared to be a dry and infertile valley filled with rough rocks and chalky brown dust. The dust bowl stretched before them, vast and inhospitable.

The girls shielded their eyes as they walked onwards. "If our intel is worth anything. The rebels will pass here."

They had made moderate progress into the desert when a vast Yoki began to form in the distance. "Do you feel that? Who's Yoki is that?" Aquilia asked fearfully.

"I've fought enemies with more Yoki," Rosemary assured.

The squad of five walked towards the signature.

Teresa narrowed her eyes. Her extensive practice with reading Yoki had taught her that there was far more than simply the size of an enemy's Yoki. Another vital factor in Yoki reading was the _quality_ of the Yoki, a difference that only those with honed sensing talents could discern.

While Rosemary had more Yoki to draw from, the enemy's Yoki seemed honed to a deadly sharp quality, as if the very act of sensing it would cut the mind. It was the Yoki of a veteran whose skills had been hardened over many long years of struggle. This enemy was extremely dangerous.

Teresa did not often feel fear-she considered it a useless emotion. She felt it now. It mixed with the guilt of the coming betrayal.

A Yoki far larger than the first sudden appeared, briefly overwhelming Teresa's senses.

"What was that?" Irene asked.

Teresa concentrated, and could feel the flavor of the two Yoki in brittle opposition. "The two Yoki signatures are fighting," she noted. _Has Rafaela engaged the rebel's Yoki? Or is it another battle altogether? _Teresa had no way of knowing. The dusty land made it impossible to see over long distances. _If it is Rafaela, she's much stronger than Rosemary. Why isn't she number one? _

Teresa glanced over at Rosemary. Consumed with a bitter look, Rosemary appeared to be asking herself the same question.

"We're going in," Rosemary said.

"No we're not." Clare unsheathed her Claymore. "The Organization falls today." Irene pulled her sword free as well. Two trainees leveled their swords at two warriors. _So Irene went rogue after all, _Teresa thought.

Teresa felt a tightness in her chest. Clare's back was turned. _She trusts me. She assumes I am her ally._ Teresa grasped her sword, but it felt unbearably heavy in her hand. It was a crucial moment and she'd never found it so hard to draw her weapon.

Time itself slowed to a crawl. Her logic and her feelings battled in one long moment.

She overpowered her doubt with sheer force and wrapping an arm around Clare's throat in a sudden motion, she jammed her blade into Clare's back. Teresa felt the blade sink through Clare's flesh with unnatural ease.

Gritting her teeth, Teresa jerked her hand, pushing the remaining length of the blade through her.

Clare looked down to see a blood-coated blade exiting her stomach, tearing through her young body. It burned through her like hot iron. Even if she could lift her blade and overcome her pain, she could never raise her blade to Teresa.

She dropped her sword and fell limply against Teresa. Her body was going numb. Teresa caught her with her free arm, her other arm still holding the blade that pierced her.

Blood seeped down the blade, dripping onto Teresa's hands.

Teresa gripped the Claymore as hard as she could, fingers shaking. She wanted to let go. Eyes narrowed, Teresa stared into Clare's eyes. They were foggy with pain.

"CLARE!" Irene shouted in disbelief.

"Kill her," Rosemary commanded, stepping towards Irene.

Rosemary and Aquilia descended quickly. Irene turned to face Rosemary, wrath incarnate. She grasped the sword on her back, intending to kill.

"She has a quick-draw technique!" Teresa heard herself shouting. Hearing this, Rosemary dodged. The air where Rosemary had been shattered with the slashes of Irene's missed quicksword attacks. There was no room for doubt: had Rosemary not dodged, she would have been slashed to pieces.

Aquilia saw an opening and stepped in, pointing her blade at Irene. Irene spun, but hesitated.

Aquilia was out of range.

Irene's mistake cost her dearly. Rapid blurs of silver shot from Aquilia's blade in a pulsating wave. In no more than an instant, a score of blade-size holes were punched through Irene's body. The minced body of Irene fell face-down into the dust, the parched land drinking up the blood which splattered where she'd fallen, lying motionless.

Clare and Irene were down.

"What a pathetic technique," Rosemary said, shaken by how close she'd come to being cut to pieces by the trainee's sword.

Aquilia chuckled. "Trainees."

For reasons unknown to her rational mind, tears began to well in Teresa's eyes. _Why is this happening? _This had happened to her often in the last few days. Teresa breathed heavily, wiping them away, but felt the sting as her bloody fingers touched her eye. Teresa wiped the blood from her brow. She felt sick.

Rosemary and Aquilia turned to Teresa. "You should have finished her. She's still breathing," Rosemary said icily, leveling her sword at Clare.

Clare looked up from where she rest in Teresa's arms with a fading consciousness, her beautiful blond hair stained with her own blood._ How can she still not be angry? I betrayed her. _

"The Organization wants her alive."

"So?"

Teresa lay Clare gingerly down. She retrieved Clare's sword from the dirt. "Those are our orders. If you want otherwise, come." Teresa dropped into a combat stance her pained eyes narrowing on Rosemary. "I will kill you both if I need to."

Rosemary and Aquilia did not disappoint her.

_**Irene**_

Irene wanted to scream.

Knives tore every inch of her. She writhed, body trying to escape the terrible pain. She convulsed again in the dust. She felt her eyes getting wet. _Not like this. _

The happy future Irene had dared to dream was seeping out of her in a bitter puddle and it was her fault. She knew how this was going to end. Her wounds were too deep.

_I failed. _Irene hated herself in that moment. She hated how weak she was.

It was hard to think of much else but the pain. Irene tensed and trembled, gritting her teeth to keep herself from screaming. A growl of agony sounded in her throat, shut behind her sealed lips, bottled up.

Pitiful tears dripped from her eyes, sucked up by the hungry sand as ragged, short breaths raked through her. She clenched her fists until the nails cut into her palms.

_Too painful. I want to die. _

Irene trembled, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing out bloody tears. The bitter thought echoed in her mind: _I want to die._

Irene felt a flash of anger at herself. _Get up, weakling. _She grit her teeth desperately summoning her strength. _Get-the FUCK up! _

She rose up with her broken body, moment by excruciating moment, eyes dripping with tears, ragged breathing getting difficult as she coughed blood. Her mangled left arm hung useless at her side.

Her breaths shook with tremors of pain. Blood dripped from the ends of her silver hair.

Irene grasped her Claymore in her right hand and looked to the sound of crashing swords with her bloodshot eye.

The three warriors fought on.

_Just a small magnitude of strength. . . that's all. _

She stumbled to the nearest girl and with a cry of pain and anger, drove her thick blade into the girl's back. Irene felt the girl spasm as the blade went through her. The girl toppled into the dust.

"Clare," Irene whimpered.

Irene wobbled for a brief moment before dropping atop the corpse of Aquilia.

Dizziness and fatigue pulled at her. She tried turning her shivering head towards Clare, but it simply went limp. She saw, from the corner of her calm eye, that Clare's chest still rose and fell. A tear of happiness dribbled down her face.

With the last of her strength, she rolled her body on top of Clare's, resting her head upon Clare's neck. It was all worth it. To protect her. To love her. The last of Irene melted into her.

She wasn't useless in the end. She was home.


	11. Chapter 11: Wind

Winds of Nostalgia

**Chapter 11:** Wind

_**Miria**_

Miria's sweat-soaked skin shined like marble in the shimmering noon sun. It was exceedingly rare for a Claymore to drip with sweat as she was now. Usually, her Yoki would regulate her temperature, but her powers had been all but depleted.

Her eyes getting heavy with exhaustion.

Miria recalled a legend of this great desert. In the years of the Twin-river rebellion, Jonah the cunning had tricked a western army of thousands into marching through its harsh, unforgiving sands. Jonah, secretly an agent of their enemy, promptly abandoned the army in the middle of the great sands. The army lost it's way, searching in all directions for an exit before being swallowed by the dust. No survivors lived to avenge their betrayal.

Men disappeared in the desert often, no stones to mark their graves.

Sometimes, an enterprising trade caravan would brave the journey, and recover a bent sword or a piece of armor that lent evidence to the legend, but the desert had swallowed all things flesh and bone. There were no corpses to find.

Miria panted. _How many times have I used it? _she wondered. _Too many times. I've lost count. _

While her endurance with the technique had improved since Pieta, she was still far from able to use the technique recklessly. Rafaela would have killed her a dozen times if it weren't for Miria's phantom and she had gotten sloppy as her exhaustion mounted, using her technique to avoid death blows that she should have been able to avoid with better swordplay and footing.

Rafaela read her Yoki when she phantomed and could wheel to Miria almost instantly after her attempts. She was extremely fast and her head was a stubborn thing to chop off.

_Should I try the other technique? _The thought of attempting the technique raised a dark dread in her that spoke of worse things than death._ No, never. The risk is too great. _Miria gulped and shut her eyes, desperately searching herself for strength.

She found enough to prevent her legs from shivering, but it was just saving face at this point. Rafaela could see plainly that Miria was finished.

_So this is how this Odyssey will end?_ Miria narrowed her eyes. She was not going to die like a coward. She was determined to die with her sword in her hand and on her two feet.

Before Rafaela stepped in for another set of attacks, a tingle of Yoki appeared from the northwest. _Hilda and the others! They must have liberated the school! _Miria felt a rush of energy.

_There's still hope. _

In half a heartbeat, Rafaela was upon her. _She intends to finish me quickly. _With a sick feeling in her gut, Miria sluggishly parried Rafaela's slashes and thrusts, at some points relying entirely on guesswork to determine Rafaela's next whistling strike.

Miria's instincts served her well. Either that, or she was getting very lucky.

The difficulty of keeping her speed on par with Rafaela's was just as troublesome as keeping her arms firm against the power of Rafaela's determined swings. Miria's arms were beginning to numb and soft, like noodles. Desperate hope sustained her.

Miria gulped mouthfuls of air, stumbling back dizzily from Rafaela's strong sweep.

_My friends are almost here. _

_It seems like there is less Yoki signatures than those who set out. Did some perish in the attack? _

Miria's eyes and wits came into focus just soon enough to duck a block by Rafaela, but the duck had killed her mobility.

It was a rookie's error.

Miria was forced to phantom, but the process was sluggish with her exhaustion. The burst put her twenty feet behind Rafaela, but not before her sword had slash Miria's shoulder below her armor. Miria winced, a red hue spreading down her uniform.

In an instant, Rafaela was upon her. Miria moved to block, but Rafaela slammed her fist into Miria's jaw.

Miria felt a crunch in her mouth and stumbled back, but not rapidly enough to escape the slash which tore through her arm. Miria's dominant arm fell to the dust, blood spraying into the air. Miria's vision went red as blood splashed into her eyes. The world turned, and rushed up to meet her.

For a few moments, all she could hear was her stubborn heart hammering away, and each haggard breath she drew. But muffled voices began to sound through the symphony of her dying body. "Protect our captain!" Miria heard. She spat sand, spittle dripping from her lips, but the sand's gravelly taste remained. _My arm. _

She grasped her dispossessed arm, but realized she couldn't re-attach it. She didn't have the strength.

She wheezed on the dusty air, her Yoki serving in place of her blood-splattered eyes. The familiar Yoki signatures of her comrades, her fellow revolutionaries, began to vanish like the flicker of fireflies in the midnight fields. They were all so weak and so vulnerable in comparison to the malignant Yoki which tore into them like a feral dog.

_Hilda! _Miria remembered. She struggled to get up with all her might. She could not reattach her arm, but her left arm, sore and throbbing, would have to do. She did her best to smear the blood from her eyes and fluttered her lashes open to the red-hued sting of her surroundings.

Blood seeping down her chest, she recovered her sword from the dirt which had nearly reclaimed it with jaws of sand and ran towards the crashing steel which marked the ongoing battle. But when her eyes finally drank in the scene of half a dozen slaughtered comrades and Hilda, it was already too late.

Rafaela swept Hilda's sword aside like a blade of grass and Hilda's head tumbled to the dirt, mouth frozen in a silent scream.

As Hilda's lifeless body tumbled to join its missing head, Miria dropped to her knees. "AHHHHHHHHH!" Miria's anger and pain burst from her lungs in a ragged scream. Before, Miria had asked "_why"_, but since then she had learned the futility of that question. She knew why Hilda's headless corpse lay in the dust, already preparing itself to be forgotten.

Miria knew that she could only blame herself.

Her guilt tempered itself into a pulsing anger which seized control of her. She pushed herself up with her one hand, grasping her instrument of wrath and charged through the strewn bodies towards the woman Miria should have dealt with from the beginning.

But Miria felt the wind stop blowing, the sand beneath her feet vanished and was replaced by void. A great black mouth swallowed her and drowned her in nothingness.

_**Teresa**_

Teresa could not sense the emotions of others all that well, but the power she had trained was empathy in its most raw and dangerous form. Reading the flow, she knew Rosemary better than Rosemary knew herself.

Empathy was a double-edged sword. It could be used to understand the pain of another, a skill which Teresa lacked, but it could also be used to find out the best way to inflict pain upon another. This fact was little known, for those sensitive to the feelings of others rarely went out of their way to hurt them.

But Teresa had trained her sense with the sole purpose of doing harm.

Rosemary's Yoki flooded from her like heat from a fire. Teresa, her powers restrained to the quietest whisper, was just a small ember floating above the flames. As Rosemary slashed, Teresa was no longer there. Teresa knew where to strike and how to move. She knew how to step, when to duck and which strike was least expected. She had developed this secret talent throughout her training and she revealed it now that she needed it most. Teresa and Rosemary danced together, swords speeding through the air.

Teresa's eyes were frozen ice and her sword was a storm. Rosemary had not been able to get close to Clare. In fact, Teresa drove Rosemary back. _You won't have her. _

Rosemary's frustration mounted as the fight went on. The more power she released the more powerless she became. Teresa could see he mounting frustration in her swings.

Teresa slowly closed the noose around Rosemary's neck. With each strike, Rosemary grew more confused and Teresa more confident. Teresa's attacks sang against Rosemary's steel in a twisted crescendo.

Like a key clicking into a lock, Teresa felt a channel and raced into it. The opening was brief, but life and death was decided in instants such as these. Teresa swung for the kill.

But as she swung, she looked down and saw that her hands were empty. She raised her gaze to see her world was swept aside. A black curtain had fallen on Teresa's performance. There was no sound. There was no ground. There was only nothing.

She was alone. Even her clothes were gone in this imaginary place. _Is this the power of the number one? An illusion that she can blind me with in order to set up a killing blow? _Teresa shifted her weight, feeling dizzy. Without any reference in this black place, balance came with far greater difficulty. _What am I standing upon? Can I even fall? _

She stood-though, she did not know what she stood upon. She narrowed her eyes, peering into the darkness, but she could not pierce it, no matter the sharpness of her stare.

"Teresa."

Teresa spun around, ready to fight.

"Clare. . ."

Clare stood behind her, naked body lit up by sourceless light, wet lines where tears had run down her face. Teresa's shock melted away and she felt rage taking it's place. "Enough of your illusions! Haven't you toyed with me enough?"

Teresa made for Clare. She would beat Clare to death if that was what was needed to end these games.

"Teresa, your hand. . . ."

Teresa brought her hand up to see her fingers slowly melting into the darkness. Half of a finger was already gone, melting painlessly away. She was turning into nothingness. Teresa would have taken it for an illusion, but she could feel her Yoki dimming within her chest as well. She was fading. "What is this?"

"You'll be gone soon. The illusion is fading away." Teresa searched herself and felt what was happening to her body-to her soul. _She's right. _

_Was she telling the truth this whole time? _"But my whole life. . . this can't be a lie."

"Just because it's an illusion doesn't make it a lie."

Teresa shook her head. "Your story is a fool's tale. This is nonsense. This makes no sense."

"We got to see each other again." Clare smiled.

_I can't help but feel cheated by this illusion. Clare knows and remembers things I will never experience. She feels enough happiness to smile and I am just left with this confusion? _But Teresa had always felt faint whispers of this story. She had just refused to listen, and now the moment was wasted.

_This isn't fair. This isn't logical. _

She felt an emotion that she did not want to admit. She was afraid. The uncertain was calling her back into a void, robbing from her the only form she ever knew.

Clare reached out with her hand, clasping Teresa's.

Teresa's eyes shot up to Clare's, open conduits to Teresa's fear and regret-to all the things she had no time to say. Teresa could feel herself dying. The strength upon which Teresa had built her life, her entire philosophy, was bleeding from invisible wounds.

Clare's eyes glimmered and she wrapped Teresa in her arms, holding her tightly. Teresa returned the embrace. Naked skin met naked skin, pressing smoothly together. It felt like a sister or a daughter rather than a lover, but most of all, Teresa knew that she belonged in the arms of this over-serious, emotional girl.

She could feel no fear as she basked in Clare's warmth. "It takes death for me to see the truth. . . ." Teresa mused darkly.

"You will live in my memories forever, Teresa."

_That's little comfort. Can I feel happiness in your memories?_

Despite these thoughts, Teresa felt a certain comfort in the gesture, nonsensical as it was. Teresa was almost gone, fading from Clare's arms.

_Can I make up for my sins in your memories? _

"Don't stop yourself from being happy on my behalf. I'm not wo-" Teresa said. And she was gone.

_**Miria**_

Miria's eyes fluttered open, brushing the thin film of snow that dusted her eyelids. Her eyes opened to a view of a clear, starry night, wayward flakes drifting slowly down towards her. As she lay, she clenched a fist with her right arm, wiggling her fingers. _Attached. Snow. _

A misty fog poured from her mouth as she breathed calmly.

But as realization swept her, Miria grasped her sword and launched to her feet. A large Yoma had been standing over her, yellow eyes foggy with concentration. _Your true form is revealed._

But seeing her rise, it stumbled back in surprise. Miria knew the dangers of hesitation with this enemy. She made two rapid swings through the stale winter air.

The Yoma's arms dropped to the ground and the Yoma let out a cry of pain.

She brought her deadly talon to the creature's neck.

"You wish to speak before you kill me?" the Yoma asked in a curiously level tone. Still, the beast huffed in pain. It was not entirely calm.

Miria pressed her blade into the Yoma, forcing it from it's feet and onto its back.

She stood above it, eyes as hard as her blade. "How?"

The Yoma coughed, purple blood spurting from it's grizzled mouth. Deep lines etched his face. This Yoma was old-older than Miria had yet seen, yet it had not grown large despite its age. "Y-you Claymores know that when a Yoma devours the flesh of its victim, we gain their memories. We gain their minds."

"Go on."

"I learned how to steal the memories from just the Yoki of my prey. Instead of just one set of memories, I have collected scores of them. I could steal memories without devouring flesh. I could steal them as the trees steal wind. When I was a young hunter, I found that I could project these stolen memories through my Yoki and create elaborate memories in which to entangle even strong witches, some even as strong as yourself. I gained more of your minds over the years. But just as the emotions and thoughts of the host-mind sometimes interfere with Yoma possessing the bodies, as I housed more Claymores within my Yoki, they each became a part of me. I was forced to stop acquiring new minds. I was teetering on the edge of losing myself to the many voices within me that all wanted to be heard."

_To think that this beast contains over twenty of my comrades from multiple generations. He is a scourge, a killer, but at the same time, he contains them. . . sustains them. _

"Recently, I found an armless, silver-haired woman who had been cut down by a purge. I passed her by, of course. I could house no more souls. But there was something about her face. I saw a grim satisfaction on her lips. She had the kind of face of someone who was content with their demise. I had never seen such a thing on a Claymore. On your dead faces I see shock, fear, hatred, determination. . . things of that nature. But I had never seen satisfaction before. Curiosity compelled me to absorb the whispers of her Yoki."

"Irene."

"Yes. That was her name. She had a magnificent set of memories within her." A look of pleasure went over the Yoma.

This brought disgust to Miria's face. "Why have you tracked us here, beast?"

She hoped he would answer with brevity. She wanted to see this abomination slain.

"As magnificent as the silver-haired one's story was, there were too many questions floating in her mind. It was not just her mind that beckoned though. There were many questions-countless questions. I came here to seek answers for those questions."

"And when you found your answers. . .?"

"I pulled you from the illusion. I did not want Clare to die." The monster gave Miria a curiously familiar look. "Neither did I want you to die, Miria. I wanted us to fight together as single digits. I promised you that much, didn't I?"

Miria's breath caught with shock. "You have Hilda within you?"

"I am many," the creature said. "I am whispers of the past. I am the scent of nostalgia on the wind." The wind blew hard, biting through them both with so many teeth. "I am dying."

The gushing purple blood which dripped into steaming pools from each confirmed that fact. Miria knew this monster had to die. It was too much of a threat to her and her comrades. "Was the dream real?"

"It was a dream. I'd think that is answer enough. If you ask whether or not it was accurately represented-if the real world would have been the same, then I must confide that there were elements of fiction in this dream."

"Which parts were fake?"

The Yoma grinned, revealing a mouth filled with long, deadly teeth. "So long as you can't tell, then I have done my job well."

The Yoma was too weak for Miria to press him further. "Any final wishes?"

"Keep Clare safe. The one with silver hair loves her. She wants you to watch over her with your blade. Clare is very reckless."

"She is." Miria sheathed her sword and stared with distant eyes. "I will do my best not to fail her. Let Irene rest easy."

"As I said. . . ." the monster said softly, "she died content." The Yoma's eyes began to mist over. His senses were failing.

Clare only stirred minutes after the Yoma passed. She sat up, brushing the snow from her hair. Miria offered Clare a hand which Clare took. Neither spoke. No words were necessary. They returned to camp. The fire was out by now. Cynthia, Deneve, Helen, Tabitha, and Yuma slept peacefully around it's remains. What had been months to Clare and Miria had passed as minutes here.

They knelt down, joining their comrades. A strong whipped in from the north, tussling their silver hair, reminding them of memories past. It had been a good night for a walk.


End file.
